Been Drifting For So Long
by Nik216
Summary: Hard work and sacrifice brings success...and once upon a time Michelle Jordan would have believed it was true. But time has a way of changing things and life has its own plans it never bothers to share. She never could have expected that a new city and a fresh start would put her face to face with someone like Tommy Conlon and miles away from where she began. Rated M for the usual
1. Chapter 1

**AN: Here we have it! I am so very excited, semi-spastic and anxiety ridden to bring you all this brand new story. As always I owe my girls Miss Winter and Mals for listening to my rambling story ideas as I begin to pull this one together, thank God for the trampoline. The Muse is sitting in the corner rubbing her hands together happily at the moment, because she has plans in store for this one…not sure where we will end up…but we always find our way.**

**Please read and review and let me know what ya think! Enjoy ; )**

**And if I need to preface the story with this…I own nothing…just the OC's and the craziness SHE cooks up.**

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_***RRRRIIIIINGGGG* *RRRRIIIIINGGGG **RRRRIIIIINGGGG***_

The sound of her cell phone blaring a ridiculous alarm at an insane volume woke Michelle Jordan from her reasonably comfortable sleep. She opened a bleary blue eye and blinked a few times to stare at her nightstand to look at the illuminated display as it continued to scream out.

It was a little after five in the morning on a Monday, and the work day ahead was calling her. She momentarily considered just pressing snooze and tossing the blanket over her head for a few more minutes of peace and quiet, but the more practical side of her mind took the time to remind her that traffic was going to be a bitch with it being the last week of school, and even though it only took 20 minutes or so to get there, she really didn't want to be late, she had a full schedule of appointments today.

Then again there really wasn't a day that she didn't have ten solid hours of appointments and work to do- but such was the job. At least she somewhat enjoyed it. Alright, to be fair, she really loved it, and she wasn't exactly making a _meager_ living either.

Michelle had gotten her Masters in Physical Therapy with a concentration in Sports Medicine from Boston University five years ago. After graduation she landed a job with the school as one of many who watched out for the athletes in the Universities various Division One sports, and though she really liked the job, after a few years she was ready for a change.

Not to mention the fact that a change of scenery was _definitely_ needed. She was a born and bred New Englander, Providence, Rhode Island to be specific, and after being no more than an hour's drive from her two brothers and her parents for most of the first 30 years of her life, she needed to get the hell away. She needed to be able to breathe, to collect her thoughts, and to not have a constant reminder of things that had happened in the past hanging over her head like a dark cloud.

She wanted to go to a place where no one knew who she was and she could really start over-be herself.

It was pure serendipity that had her flipping through the TV one Saturday night as insomnia struck at two am. On one of the 27 million ESPN channels she watched a documentary on mixed martial arts that was highlighting coaches and training facilities on the east coast. She was just about to change the channel when they began to discuss the charismatic and eccentric, but brutally effective, Frank Campana.

Admittedly she knew absolutely _nothing_ about MMA other than the fact that it happened in a cage with sweaty men and it looked like little more than animals trying to kill one another. But as she listened to the toned and extremely articulate Italian speak about the science of fighting and training the mind with a real enthusiasm in his voice, she had to admit she was hooked.

She'd reached across the couch and grabbed her laptop to type in the website for his Philadelphia based, "Soul of a Lion Gym", and after perusing the site for the better part of an hour she stumbled upon the fact that he was looking for a physical therapist full time. Philly sounded like a viable option; it was only five hours from her family, which meant that if the need struck for holidays or whatever, she was within a decent drive if she felt like coming home; so she sent an email and a copy of her resume.

Frank personally contacted her the next day, and after a four hour conversation about topics ranging from athletics to sports medicine and conventional versus holistic therapy, she was hired on the spot pending a drug test, and the rest, as they say, was history. She'd packed up her meager one bedroom apartment in a U-haul towed by her dependable 2006 Jeep Liberty and left the "Ocean State" behind her for the "City of Brotherly Love."

She managed to find a decently priced apartment in what was known as the Near Northeast neighborhood. It wasn't anything too special, just one bedroom, with an open plan for the living room and the kitchen/ dining space, a bathroom and a tiny spare room that she was using as an office/ collect all crap space at the moment.

That was six months ago.

Michelle stretched under the covers and let out one last huge yawn before she threw back the covers and padded off towards to the bathroom to take a shower. She stared in the mirror at the disheveled way that her long chocolate brown hair had somehow managed to move from a neat bun to a side ponytail that the 1980's would have been proud of.

She pulled out the elastic and shook out the thick curtain of hair, marveling as it fell well past her shoulders, had it been that long since she'd got it cut? She tried to remember the last time she even went to the hairdresser, while she leaned over to turn on the faucet to get the shower going boiling hot, just like she liked it.

She took her time washing and drying her hair before she walked back into her bedroom and pulled on her usual work ensemble, white cotton panties, white cotton bra, a pair of black Adidas track pants, a black v-neck t-shirt and her pink Nike's. Pretty comfortable, she couldn't really complain. There weren't that many people that got to go hang around for a ten hour shift in gym clothes, then again there weren't that many people who were practically climbing on tables and workout equipment dealing with temperamental athletes for a living either.

It was a fair trade in her opinion. After carefully reconstructing her ponytail and putting on a little eyeliner, mascara and very light pink lip gloss to help her give a little color to her perpetually ghost white skin, she had just enough time to wolf down a Larabar and a glass of apple juice before she grabbed her huge leather pocketbook and trotted down the stairs to her car.

* * *

Michelle breathed deep and savored the early June air that came through her windows as she pulled into the parking lot of the gym. Soul of a Lion was on Spring Green Street in the Northern Liberties neighborhood, the facility was an oasis of modern architecture in a normally very historic neighborhood.

She had to give it to Campana- the man knew how to invest his money. The gym was state of the art from the time that he built it ten years ago, but after a number of recent huge tournament victories he'd sank another million into the place, and it definitely showed. She hopped out of her car and shut the door just as the man himself pulled up in his perfectly restored black 1983 Land Rover Defender.

Frank opened the door, wearing a warm-up suit similar to hers and a pair of dark Oakley sunglasses perched on his face; she had to laugh at the way that his longish shaggy hair was actually styled to be just perfectly messy. He flashed her a million dollar smile as he grabbed a thick stack of binders from the passenger's seat.

"Good morning, sista!" He said with way too much enthusiasm for six am, "Got a full day today."

"Yeah, I do," She nodded as she mentally ran through her clients, starting first and foremost with his current number one middleweight fighter Marco Santos, who to be honest, Frank was referencing anyhow.

Marco was a decent guy, mid-thirties, pretty intelligent, followed orders well, and had a nasty ACL tear almost a year ago that had effectively sidelined him, but he had a tendency to whine about the intensity of her stretching workouts that was beginning to drive her absolutely crazy.

She'd been working with him since she started at the gym and he was still making it known that she was evil on a daily basis. _Diablita _was the endearing phrase he'd used more than once when she was really laying into him.

"I want to get Marco back in the sparring rotation by the end of the month," Frank added as they walked into the front doors of the gym.

It was already open and humming with life. His operations manager John always opened the place at four am, and there were some fighters that had already put in a ten mile run by that time.

She nodded at Frank's request and smiled honestly, "He's got to pick it up with the stretching, Frank. His knee is at about 85% right now, but he'd be better off if he'd commit. I'm not releasing him back until I'm happy with the way it looks. Maybe you ought to tell him that, it generally comes off with a little more effect if he knows a fight it at stake."

Michelle followed him to the small glass enclosed room that served as his "on the floor" office space, and stood at the door as he dropped his binders on the desk. "He should be respecting your routine and your opinion, Mich."

He turned to look at her with the sagely patient look in his hazel eyes that she'd come to recognize as his, "Jedi Zen Master" stare, before he crossed his arms over his toned chest and continued. "You have to command respect to earn it with these guys."

A wry grin tugged at her full lips as she took a deep breath and stared back at her boss. "Look, Frank, and I mean absolutely no disrespect to you at all, but I am a 5'7'' 140 pound woman. These guys respect a punch in the face or the threat of a dislocated joint that makes them tap out; they see me as the chick that barks orders at them to do stupid exercises and gives them a free rub down at the end of the day. I'm keeping them out of the ring and keeping money out of their pocket. Not a lot of respect to be had in that position."

"That how _you_ see yourself?" He asked in an even tone as he leaned over to flip on the classical music that played over the loud speakers in the gym.

Michelle was caught off guard by his question and as a response she swore that she felt her right knee actually twinge in pain at the implication. She squared off her shoulders and narrowed her eyes, knowing that he was working her on purpose, and it angered her. If there was one thing she knew from a lifetime of questioning it, it was her own self-worth.

"Not particularly, Frank," She huffed a little sharper than she intended. Thanks to her French Canadian father and her Italian mother, the one thing she wasn't particularly short on was temper. But Frank took it in stride, sitting down behind his desk and waving for her to come in with a flick of his fingers.

She closed the door and sit down across from him as he rested his arms on the rests of his chair, fixing her with a calm look. "I like you, Mich, that's why I hired you. I especially wanted you because I needed a therapist that understood what it was like to be an athlete, and you have that. You might want to use it, you know, these guys know what it is like to sacrifice their body for a sport."

Michelle nodded; she knew what it was like to be an athlete alright. She'd been a figure skater for the better part of her life. "Thanks," She answered quietly, not particularly willing to talk about it anymore as she stood up from his desk. "I'll work with Marco on the stretches today; maybe have a little chat with him."

"You do that." Frank smiled as she went to open the door, "Oh, and before I forget, I have a good buddy poppin' in this afternoon, I might have a new client for you that makes Marco's temper look like a giggle."

She shook her head and turned back to see him grinning, "You know Campana; I thought you were supposed to be a nice guy."

"I am a nice guy!" He laughed loudly as she turned the corner.

* * *

Michelle was loathed to admit halfway through the day that her boss had a point. She'd stopped barking at Marco and started to factually point out why what she was having him do was important, and he was actually listening to her. She was shocked and surprised to realize that she'd absorbed more about fighting in six months than she thought.

Especially when she was actually able to use terms that she'd been listening to that actually made sense, like his joint was going to be a vulnerable strike point, and that he'd have to defend against offensive moves towards it as well as avoid being put into a position where he was in a clinch hold and if she was the opposing coach she'd be looking for a kneebar against him in a second.

She saw Frank out of the corner of her eye as she was having an animated discussion with him about how his groin flexibility would be an asset as he would have to rely on strength elsewhere in his body to compensate.

He was smiling at her change of tactic, and it was a huge self esteem boost.

Right up to the point that she realized that by demonstrating hamstring and joint stretches Marco's eyes had ended up on her ass instead of listening to what she was saying.

She finally realized that there was an undeniable fact that Campana forgot to rationalize back in his office, the fact that no matter how much the guys "respected" her medical opinion, it wasn't going to stop them from staring at the God-given curves she'd inherited from her mother's side of the family.

"Alright Santos, I've got other people to work with, keep up the stretches and I'll recommend to Frank that you get thrown back into rotation at the end of the month."

He snapped out of it and looked up at her, the sheepish look on his face let her know that _he_ knew he'd been caught red handed. "Thanks, yeah, sounds real good."

"Lovely." Michelle rolled her eyes and walked back to the small room at the back of the gym where she had set up her office. It was really nothing more than a glorified closet full of filing cabinets that directly abutted the massage therapy room, but it was at least a place with a door and a desk so she could feel like a professional.

She flipped through her day planner, she had another session with a lumbar injury that was due to start anytime, and just as she was about to get up from the small wooden desk there was a knock on the door. Her eyes flitted up to see the perfectly lean and chiseled form of Aimee Ross standing there. "Rossta" as she was known in the gym, was the only female fighter that was currently training under Frank and had recently been signed into UFC's newly created Women's Bantamweight class. Her record stood unblemished at 5-0-0.

Michelle looked her over quickly, noting that she was still wearing the loose boxing shorts and tight Under Armour shirts common for people sparring, and her small ponytail of gathered black hair was completely disheveled. She must have come right from the ring.

"You gotta minute?" She asked in a thick New York accent as she rotated her shoulder in the joint.

"Yeah," Michelle answered as she stood up and walked over, "What's up?"

"Just tweaked my friggin shoulder, Frank wanted you to look at it."

Michelle nodded and stepped out of her office, waving her over to the massage room so she could have some privacy. Aimee walked in behind her and stripped off her shirt as she closed the door, standing in a sports bra and prodding the joint with her finger tips, a frown written all over her face.

"That new kid Tate felt the need to show off and try to be a man," She grumbled as Michelle took her arm and extended it. "Found out real quick that was not gonna be the case."

A smile pulled at her mouth as she began to manipulate the joint, "Tell me if and where this hurts." She instructed as she continued, "You get him?"

Aimee's dark brown eyes sparkled, "Mounted right up behind him and choked him out like a little bitch, turned him purple. Have a feelin' he's not gonna live that down for a while."

Michelle laughed and stared at the woman in front of her with a sense of absolute respect. She had always taken good care of herself and kept in good shape, it came with the job, but she was still soft and curvy; Aimee was carved out of marble. Every muscle on the 32 year-old Brooklyn native was flawless and lean, speaking to years of training and discipline, and they might have been close to the same weight, however they were worlds apart. This girl regularly tore apart the men that trained here, she might not be as tall or as strong, but if she took you to the ground you were all done.

But what Michelle found the most amusing was the fact that at the end of the night, Aimee threw on a pair of wire-rimmed glasses to help her drive and looked like a damn librarian. She was who she was and didn't apologize to anyone. In fact she was one of a very few openly gay athletes on the fight circuit, and was proud of what speaking out had done for others.

Admittedly, Aimee was one of the few people that she'd ever enjoyed talking to for more than five minutes, and that was something. She was probably the closest thing that she had to a friend in Philadelphia, or anywhere for that matter.

"What made him that brave?" Aimee twitched and nodded as Michelle recognized that she'd just over stretched the labrum, "Think you just over did yourself, nothing feels out of place. Ice it tonight and take some Advil."

"Thanks," She said as she slid her shirt back on and fixed her hair. "Sparta Tournament rumors are starting up again, so now you are gonna see every guy in here walk around like his dick grew by a foot."

Michelle laughed at the colorful descriptor, "What's Sparta?"

Aimee rolled her eyes, "Damn girl, you live under a rock?"

"No," She answered defensively.

"Sparta was that winner take all tourney last summer in AC," Aimee explained, "You know the one where the brothers fought in the end?"

Michelle shrugged, still completely clueless.

"The one where Marco blew out his knee training and Frank put his buddy the UFC school teacher in and _won_ five mil?"

A small light dawned on her and Michelle remembered Frank talking about it with her when she first started. "Oh, yeah, that part rings a bell. That guy fought his brother?"

"Crazy ass story," Aimee nodded. "Brother went AWOL from the Marines after his unit got all shot up by our planes, he was the only one left alive, saved some guys on the way out of there though, ripped the door off a tank or somethin' like that. He said he was doin' the thing to give money to his dead buddy's wife. They never even said anything 'till the finals, it was a nuts fight too, went all five rounds. Frank's guy ended up poppin' out his shoulder and he still kept goin'. Finally tapped at the end though."

Michelle listened to her casual recounting of the story with her blue eyes wide open and almost bugging out of her head at the ridiculous sounding nature of it all, "Holy crap."

Aimee smirked and checked the tape on her hands, "How about lookin' it up on YouTube tonight and then you'll know stuff like a normal person that works in an MMA gym."

"I'm actually busy tonight, I have lessons to teach," She teased as she opened the door, "I have a _normal_ life that doesn't revolve around punching people in the head thank you very much."

"Yeah, alright, 'cause I hear about your dates and social life 24/7. You ain't got a life girl, you work and then you go somewhere else and work for free, while you freeze your ass off in an ice rink hanging out with kids, _that_ ain't normal."

Michelle sighed at her rather shameful but accurate assessment of her pathetic life at the moment. She hadn't been on a date since she moved to Philly, and if she was going to be honest, she hadn't been on one in a hell of a lot longer than that. But it really wasn't her fault either; it wasn't like she had time in her schedule to be chasing down a man. Besides hanging out with Aimee and her girlfriend Tara on a Friday night going to a bar or a movie once a month was plenty of fun, why would she want to deal with crap?

"I'll have you know I date, Ross, I just currently have my hands full with the men I work with here; so I have no patience to deal with one when I go home."

Aimee shrugged playfully as she walked off, "Just sayin' girl, you should watch that fight is all. Ain't gonna remind you about your lack of play and if you don't use it you lose it."

"I'll keep that in mind, probably lost it already anyhow." She chuckled, before her face went serious as Aimee headed off for the ring, "Lay off that shoulder for the rest of the day, Ross, or I'll have your ass."

The woman turned around and saluted her with only a hint of sarcasm, "10-4 lady."

* * *

Michelle was just finishing up with her last appointment when she glanced up at the clock on the wall, it was a little after four thirty. She needed to get moving if she was going to make it across town in an hour and have enough time to eat something for dinner. She walked back to her office and locked up the filing cabinets and the door before grabbing her pocketbook and slinging it over her shoulder as she burrowed down to the bottom to grab her keys. She walked past the door to Frank's office, and it was just by chance that she looked up to see that he had someone sitting with him through the glass.

Frank nodded to her and waived her in enthusiastically to get her to come in, but she pointed up at the clock and shrugged her shoulders with an apologetic look mouthing, "I'm sorry".

The guy he was sitting with turned around at the commotion and Michelle almost stopped in her tracks. He was wearing a tan colored blazer and a white button up shirt, and _hello, blue eyes_. He was handsome there was no doubt about that, sandy, dirty blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a set of really nice looking lips that were curled into a friendly smile. For a second she almost made a detour, but a last minute reminder of little faces patiently waiting got the better of her and she merely returned the pleasant gesture and jogged out to her car.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: And yeah, here we have the first little bit in Tommy's head, it's interesting in there. A couple things, one being the entire AWOL and the court marshal process, I talked to my brother-in-law who is an officer in the Navy and he was of the opinion that Tommy could have beat his charges with the circumstances I have written…apparently there is one thing the US Military does not like right now, and that is bad press…and prosecuting a hero whose entire squad died in a friendly fire incident…he said, "JAG would run screaming from that like they were on fire."**

**Also, my oldest brother was in the Corps for ten years, (I am honored to have a Marine, an Army Soldier and a Naval officer all as brothers) served two tours in the Iraq War and has recently come forward to the family with his PTSD problems. We have talked a lot lately, about things that are bothering him, and some of Tommy's thoughts are, and will be, based conversations that we have had. He's getting better day by day, with therapy and I am so damn proud of him for having the courage to admit he was hurting.**

**So, as always, I hope you enjoy this, please read and review…makes me smile when you do!**

**Oh, and damn, Tommy's internal monologue has vulgar language…so if you are offended…there you go ; ).**

* * *

_Six Months Earlier…_

* * *

Lucky.

Normally it never would have been a word that Tommy Conlon ever would have willingly used to describe his life- _ever_. He wasn't lucky to have a shitty childhood and a mean drunk of a father who beat the ever-living crap out of his mother, him and his brother on an almost daily basis. He wasn't lucky to have to scrape and starve in a pathetic excuse for a house as he watched his mother cry out for God while she withered away and died from lung cancer in front of his eyes. He sure as fuck wasn't lucky when he watched his brother-in-arms be blown to fucking pieces, drowning in his own blood while he begged him to take care of his wife and his kids…that shit wasn't fucking lucky in the least.

But there was a small nagging voice in his head, the one that was still the thoughts of an optimistic little kid that thought he'd win a fucking Olympic gold medal someday that kept reminding him of little things.

He'd hear his mother in there too, reminding him in same calm, sweet voice that lulled him to sleep when he was young, that he was lucky that they had each other for comfort, even for that little time. That he was lucky to have survived when the rest of his platoon was killed, and he was lucky that he made it home to find his brother again.

Thankfully that little voice in his head drowned out pretty quick with a bottle of pills and a couple Vicodin. But that was before, when he could pretty much use sarcasm to cut out feelings, not that he still didn't, it was just a lot harder to do now.

Because when the MP's went to cuff him, busted shoulder and all after Sparta, his big brother wouldn't let him go. He'd been shocked as hell to hear Brendan tell them in a calm voice, still amped up from their fight to, "Back the _fuck_ up." He wouldn't have thought his brother had it in him, but the limply hanging arm that was dangling from its socket should have been a clue that this was not the earnest guy from the beach that he'd talked shit to the other night. His big brother was a beast.

What Tommy remembered most about those few moments was feeling for the first time in a very, very long time that he could take a breath. For a split second he didn't have to carry all that weight on his shoulders alone anymore, he could relax, even just for a minute- because Brendan wasn't bailing on him again.

And he didn't.

He eventually ended up at the hospital where doctors jammed his shoulder back in place and took a bunch of MRI's and were shocked to find that there was very minimal damage to the rotator cuff and the ligaments around it. An unreal coincidence coming from the fact that Brendan was apparently a damn surgeon with holds, and that his traps and delts were monsters that kept the joint very stable. Fucking lucky-_again_.

The prognosis was decent, two weeks in a sling followed by four to six weeks of rehab and after that he would be cleared to work on it again with continued physical therapy. He would have been happier about it, if that didn't have his ass being carted off to the brig while he awaited a court marshal for going AWOL.

Even that somehow managed to turn in his favor. It was something that he'd never, ever forget. Sitting there like a chump one minute with his court appointed military attorney, who looked like he could barely staple two pieces of paper together, let alone handle a trial, and the next, in walked a fucking dream team six of civilian lawyers with his brother behind them.

Tommy knew it was costing him a fortune and he tried to tell his brother to stop and just let him be, that he deserved his punishment, he left and he'd be a man and take what was coming to him, but Brendan wouldn't have it.

"You are getting the best, Tommy," He kept saying over and over, "You're my little brother, I love you, and I'm not letting you go."

Tommy kept trying to do the math in his head but it was too hard. He had to have paid those guys half a mil, easy, if not more. He was using his Sparta winnings to help him out and it was making him sick, he fucking _hated_ it.

It worked though. They managed to get every single CO and grunt that he'd ever worked with on the stand to testify to his exemplary service records. They called doctors to talk about PTSD and battlefield trauma, they showed official military pictures of his unit, blood and bodies everywhere, it took everything he had not to throw up in the courtroom at the sight of it. As it was he had to cover his face to hide the fact that he was crying like a damn girl, the smell of scorching hot desert and charred flesh instantly returning to his nostrils.

But the clincher came from the most unlikely of places. It's pretty common knowledge in the Corps that PTSD is shoved under the rug. You are a jarhead, you grunt and you work and you shut your damn mouth. Unit, Corps, God, Country; that was what you answered to, and in that order.

The one thing that the US Military took seriously these days was public opinion. Two wars going on and kids dying pisses people off, and when Frank Campana and his brother personally saw to it that every MMA athlete from UFC, Bellator, you name it, spoke on camera about Tommy and the trial every chance they got, at every fight and every press event, and got the fans and local and national news involved- well the Government listened. Friendly fire death really doesn't go over all that well.

Tommy almost shit his pants the day Randy Couture personally called to tell him that he was going 50/50 with Ken Shamrock, Tito Ortiz a bunch of other fighters to donate money to the widows and families of every single one of the guys in his unit. He tried to be a man of pride and thank him, but he got too choked up to even get the words out.

He heard his mother's voice in his ear that night before he went to sleep telling him he was lucky, and he believed it, even if it was just a little.

* * *

Tommy walked out of the court marshal remanded to his brother's custody with a medical discharge from the Marine Corps. The judge tacked on a sentence of six months of house arrest for entering the country illegally, to be served consecutively with six months of mandatory therapy. The legal team wanted to argue that down, but he just wanted to get the hell out of there while they were in a generous mood. So he left the place with nothing more than a plastic piece of ankle jewelry and a clean damn slate. It was a reprieve that he didn't think he deserved, one that his unit never got. He didn't mind crying like a girl and hugging his brother in the parking lot for an hour after it was all said and done either.

He felt like fucking OJ or something, and it was the moment that he realized that money really did make things a hell of a lot easier. He could see what had propelled his brother to fight with such ferocity; he needed money for his family, and Tommy wondered if he'd ever had a chance. He loved Manny, and he desperately wanted to make good on his word, but those weren't _his_ kids. It wasn't _his_ family.

He made Brendan drive straight from JAG Headquarters in DC to Philadelphia. He just wanted to crawl into a bed, behind a door, with a mattress that didn't smell like cheap bleach and go to sleep for a week. He wanted to hide from the world and not look over his shoulder.

The road conversation was pretty one sided; Brendan talked a lot about his girlfriend -_wife_- Tess, and his girls, a little about Pop too. But Tommy couldn't manage anything but a nod or two. It was a lot to think about. There was shit with Tess he had to deal with, resentment, anger, and fucking times that by a million and you had the situation with his father, and then there was a thought about his nieces.

Two little girls that had his blood, Mom's blood, and he'd never seen them before. It intimidated him on so many damn levels, but there was the simple voice in his head that reminded him that they were kids, and there wasn't much to dealing with kids. They were honest, and that was a hell of a lot more than you got from most people.

Thankfully when they finally pulled into the driveway after two in the morning the house was completely dark. He was so damn exhausted he didn't think he could manage any sort of small talk. Instead Brendan led him upstairs as he carried his one duffle bag full of clothes and led him to the spare room. He pointed out the bathroom down the hall and told him there was a new toothbrush in the cabinet. They stared at the ground for a long beat of silence until he spoke again, his voice was quiet, "It's Saturday tomorrow, Tommy, sleep as long as you want."

He'd shrugged and nodded his head, his hands burrowing into the pockets of his track pants, feeling like an awkward ass for wanting a hug or something else, so he just settled for turning around and walking into the room, stripping down to his boxers and diving under the covers.

* * *

That first night Tommy slept like a damn baby. Even when the sun streamed into the window through the blinds and he realized that he was snuggled under a chocolate brown comforter with bright canary yellow sheets. He allowed himself a deep breath of the pillow as he hugged it, picking up some nice smelling detergent, the real expensive stuff that had fabric softener in it, and a faint trace of flowery perfume, probably from when his brother's wife made the bed, and then let his eyes close again just wanting to rest.

He couldn't tell how much later it was when he swore he heard the door open, feet on the hardwood floor, and the mumbled whisper of two little voices.

"He looks different than daddy."

"Shh, Rosie, get out, I'm telling Mom that you are bothering Uncle Tommy."

"I'm _not_ bothering Uncle Tommy, I want to get him cereal for breakfast or a Pop Tart."

"He's sleeping, Rosie, get out!"

"No!"

The loudness of the little squeak was enough to make him open up his eyes in response. He looked up to see a little face perched on the edge of the mattress staring at him with Brendan's blue eyes and a mass of white blonde curls that reminded him of old pictures of his mom when she was young. He cast a quick gaze up at the door, and found himself staring at an older girl with long brown hair and a sensitive pair of hazel eyes. She hid a little behind the door, but the little girl on the bed smiled at him with a toothless grin.

"Hi." Her voice was as tiny as a mouse and he smiled reflexively at the way she rocked on the balls of her feet as if she was actually anxious and excited to meet _him_.

"Hey," He answered quietly, not taking his head off the pillow, "What's your name?"

"I'm Rosie," She said as she leaned into him, making him lean in to her, and he actually did it without even realizing it. "That's Emily, she's my sister." She loudly whispered. "Are you my Uncle Tommy?"

He couldn't stop the rare full smile that easily slid across his face at her eagerness. "Yeah, I am."

Her blue eyes sparkled and she leaned forward more, putting her little face right in his, still whispering in that almost comic voice, "Do you like cereal or Pop Tarts, or do you want Mommy to make you eggs and pancakes?"

"Rosie!"

The loud voice startled both the little girl and Tommy as well, he nearly jumped a damn foot in the air, before he caught sight of a pretty blonde at the door. Tess McClain. She still looked the same as she did the last time he saw her. She was a year older than he was, and one younger than Brendan. She'd been in her little cheerleading uniform, green and white, short skirt and tight little sweater, shaking her little pom-poms as she cheered for the wrestling team. And by the look of things she was still damn fine, even after two kids her tiny figure was flawless.

He snapped out of his inappropriate horny-ass mind, just in time to catch her staring at him with a strange look on her face. He was actually embarrassed to think that she was looking at him like a rabid dog that her five-year-old daughter had made the mistake of opening the gate and walking up to pet. Then again it's not like he could really blame her. He was a fucking animal at Sparta. Hulking around the cage like a caveman, beating guys like he was trying to kill them and then walking away like he was leaving a crime scene. What was she supposed to think?

"Oh, um, sorry… Tommy," She spoke in a strange flat voice. "I'm Tess, if you don't remember."

Tommy nodded dumbly, "Yeah, uh, hey."

"If you'd like breakfast come on downstairs," Tess said with a practiced smile that was no more than a reflex. "If not, sleep as long as you want up here."

"I'll eat," He answered politely, "Thank you."

She nodded and looked at her daughter perched on the edge of the bed, "Let's go Rosie, leave him alone and come on."

* * *

Breakfast in the Conlon household was a hell of a lot different than he remembered from his childhood. He was as quiet as possible as he walked down the hardwood stairs into his brother's house, staring at the cream and tan colored walls, the framed pictures of a smiling family and nick-nacks that adorned the walls. He remembered his words from the beach that night at Sparta, "Why am I lookin' at pictures of people I don't know?" But that damn voice again reminded him that it was his family, and he should want to know them, be a part of it-somehow.

But that felt impossible. The place was perfect, the kind of home that they had in magazines or something, and that made him feel all the more awkward about being there. Like here he was in Beaver Cleaver-ville, except he was the loser brother who lived in the basement…guest room, actually, he wasn't even cool enough for the basement.

As if sensing his thoughts, his mind strayed to the GPS confinement bracelet that was currently charging in his room. He was stuck in this house for six months; the only approved locations he was allowed to go to other than this was his doctor's office and his therapist's place. Fucking therapy, having someone shrink him while he sat on a couch made him want to punch something-_ hard_.

He didn't talk about his feelings, he was a man, and besides no amount of crying like a bitch was going to bring his Mom or Manny back, or was going to make him feel better about the fact that Pop was a fisty drunk growing up, and now he was begging for forgiveness, and that he had 1,000 days sober before Tommy got to him.

"Uncle Tommy?"

A quiet voice snapped him out of his daydream and he jumped out of reflex, seeming to startle the older of the two girls, Emily, he remembered. He felt like shit noticing that she was standing halfway across the room from him. "Yeah?" He managed as his hands went automatically to the pockets of his black hoodie and he tried to smile.

She seemed to notice that he was just as uncomfortable as she was, and she finally shook her head and looked up at him with a genuine smile, one that reminded him of his brother and maybe Tess, if she actually smiled at him, before she nodded to the kitchen, "Come on, we saved a seat for you at the table, Mommy's making eggs."

He followed her into a bright, big kitchen with brand new stainless steel appliances and a really nice butcher block table with six chairs around it. He'd barely crossed the threshold before a chair pushed back from the table and Rosie's blonde curls raced to greet him, reaching out to pull his hand out of his pocket and grab onto it before pulling him over to the table. Tommy couldn't help but stare in awe as the way her tiny hand and fingers wound around his and disappeared in his large palm.

"Sit here," She instructed and no sooner had he listened, she climbed up on top of him and sat on his leg, pulling her bowl of cereal back to her and digging in. Emily scooted her chair over until it was touching his and made sure that she was as close as she could get on the other side of them.

Tommy sat still, completely surrounded by the little girls and finally looked up at his brother, who was sitting at the head of the table, sipping his coffee with a shit eating grin on his face. "You want coffee, Tommy, or do you still not drink it?"

There was no bitterness in his brother's voice and he had to smile just a little at the witty jab, "Yeah, I'll take a cup, black, please."

Tess was there a minute later, over his shoulder with a nice full mug. She had a smile on her face that hadn't been there this morning; as if the two kids that were hanging all over him, were proof that he wasn't an animal. She put a heaping plate of scrambled eggs, wheat toast and a few pieces of bacon in front of him a minute later before serving his brother the same thing.

"I figured you weren't training at the moment, so you deserve a little pork fat." Tess said as she walked to the table with her own plate, and another one heaped up with sliced cantaloupe, pineapple slices and fresh strawberries for everyone to share. "You don't have to eat it if you don't want to, Brendan will be more than happy to take it off your hands."

Tommy stared down at the plate in front of him and wanted to cry, how long had it been since someone had cooked a meal for him? Probably Pilar…he stamped the thought down and took a deep breath before he remembered to look up at his brother's wife and remember his manners. "Thanks, Tess, this looks really good."

He ate three plates. He really wasn't intending to, but he couldn't help it. He was practically drooling all over himself at the taste of actual bacon and fresh fruit, and he didn't even realize that Tess and Brendan were watching him until he grabbed the last piece of strawberry and popped it in his mouth. It made him a little on edge to be the center of attention, and the strange look that passed between them made him even more uneasy. "What?" He finally asked.

"Nothing," Brendan replied in the same tone, adding that hint of amusement that drove him crazy as a kid.

"Then stop starin' at me like that."

"I'm not staring."

"Geez," Tess said with a roll of her eyes. "Do I have to separate you two?"

Tommy's ears went red at the comment and Brendan laughed. "Nah, babe we're good. He knows I can beat him anyway."

A scoff and a snort came out of Tommy's nose as he stared at his brother with a sharp stare in his grey eyes, "You gonna actually believe that." There was a hint of resentment and anger that flared to life in his chest, but then his stomach rumbled pleasantly and little Rosie leaned back to snuggle her curly head against his chest. Suddenly he had a stupid memory of him and his brother getting inside a rubber trash can and rolling it down the hill behind their house just for the fun of it, and he realized that Brendan was busting his chops like he used to.

Brendan seemed to actually sense the change in him and kept along with the joke, "I'm just sayin' it happened is all."

Tommy smirked and suddenly one of Pop's stupid sayings came rolling off his tongue, "Well, you enjoy that, 'cause even a blind squirrel finds a nut eventually."

* * *

The two of them sat at the table for a long time having that cup of coffee they should have had together in Atlantic City. Tess eventually shooed the girls out of the kitchen so they could get dressed and she stopped Tommy from helping her clean up, with a simple, "I got it, you can owe me one."

They were quiet for the most part, well _he_ was quiet; Brendan talked on and on about the next school year and what he planned to add to the curriculum for his physics class. Tommy couldn't help but shake his head in disbelief, who the hell won five million dollars and then went back to work?

"I like teaching," He answered. "I paid off the house, put money away for retirement and college for the girls, and uh, I sent some to someone who deserved it."

The words hit his chest with a weight of emotion; he'd sent money to Manny's family. He didn't even have to ask why; it was just something he'd do- it was the _Brendan_ thing to do. "I put some away for you too, Tom."

His throat tightened up and he could feel tears prick at his eyes, "I don't want your money, Bren. You already paid for my lawyers, I don't want anymore."

"You're my brother, Tommy."

"Stop sayin' that like it's that simple," He snapped. "It ain't."

Brendan sighed and sat back in his chair, "Frank Campana's buddy knows the head of the firm we hired. They did it for half of what they normally would have, so there you go." He raised his hands in a shrug, "Besides, you need to get on your damn feet. You own one bag of clothes; let me help you for Chrissakes and stop being so goddamn stubborn- and for the record, it is that simple."

"Fine, I'm payin' you back." He groused.

"If you need to."

"I do."

"Well, then I'll make up a tab." Brendan smirked as he finished his coffee.

Tommy couldn't keep the smirk from curling his lips, "How 'bout I fight you for it instead."

"Nah," He answered standing up and clapping him on the back with an affectionate pat, "Retired, bro, besides Tess would kill me."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: So here we have the second part of Tommy's journey to the present. I like to think he's settling in, in a Tommy sort of way.**

**Just a little nod to my girl Wynter and her latest Warrior story in here, it should be very easy to see.**

**Please read and review, I know it is starting off a little slow, but it has to! Words are love, don't make me beg! ; )**

* * *

It was funny, after a month and a half of living with his brother; Tommy had managed to fall into a routine very similar to his life in the Corps. Up early, bed made to spec, dressed, chow line, and chores. He was part of the family and still managing to remain a step back, as if he was participating, just from a distance. It was as close to comfortable as he could feel given the circumstances, but the girls and their smiles and constant chatter helped relax him, despite giving him the occasional headache.

And, after hearing Tess dole out discipline to her daughters on rare occasion, he may have actually preferred hearing his drill sergeant bark orders. The woman may have been small, but damn when she put her hands on her little hips and made a face, even his brother fell in line.

He still cringed at the raised voice, and the threat of punishment, conditioned still after all these years to almost expect a, "Don't you talk back to me," to be immediately followed by a dull crack of a backhand across the face. But that never came.

He was mortified the morning she saw him actually flinch when she yelled out the back door to Emily and Rosie, who were arguing in the yard. He'd jumped a foot and managed to spill his cup of coffee all over his last clean pair of track pants, burning the shit out of his hand in the process and making a hell of a mess on the floor.

She turned to face him with sympathy written all over her face, and for the first time since he'd been living under her roof, he saw something other than "toleration" of him in her hazel eyes.

"I'm so, so sorry, Tommy," She said as she grabbed a dish towel and wiped up the floor, before pulling him over to the sink and running his hand under cold water. "Are you alright?"

He'd nodded dumbly and couldn't say anything as she stared at the patch of red skin that hurt like fuck, but really wasn't much worse than a slight sunburn.

She looked at his coffee soaked, worn clothes and a small smile stretched across her face, "I have a really big mouth, and I kind of forget that some people aren't used to screaming children and obnoxious parents."

"It's cool."

Tess scrunched up her nose and took a deep breath, "So, umm, I have to go out to the mall today, I know you have your first therapy session tomorrow, do you want me to pick you up a few things to wear?" The look of irritation and embarrassment must have been written all over his face because she smiled and when she spoke again, he could hear the amusement in her voice, "Because between you and me, you don't want Brendan shopping for you, you'll end up looking like an accountant or something."

Tommy had to laugh at her dig, because damn it all if the first thing that popped into his mind wasn't Dockers and a sweater vest. "Yeah, uh, sure, you want me to give you money now?"

She waived her hand, "Nah, if you want, I can just keep the receipts and when you can get to the bank we can even it all out." She poured him another cup of coffee and handed it off with a smile, "Not like I don't know where you live."

* * *

He had to give it to the woman, Tess knew how to shop, and apparently didn't need to be told what he would and wouldn't wear. Because she came home with four pairs of jeans, a bunch of t-shirts and long-sleeved thermals, all blue, black and grey, a couple collared polo shirts that he could deal with, socks, boxer briefs, and a nice pair of work boots. She was of the opinion that gym sneakers really weren't appropriate to be worn out in public if you weren't going to the gym.

"How much?" He asked quietly.

"Two hundred bucks for _everything_," Tess proclaimed happily, "I should do this for a living."

Tommy had politely nodded at the time, but as he stood in the bathroom the next morning shaving his face using the bag full of stuff she'd bought for him at the drugstore, he couldn't help but smile just a little. She'd hooked him up with shaving cream, razors, new deodorant and a little hair gel.

Tess was a damn good woman, and his brother was a lucky man. She was a hell of a cook, she kept the house perfect, she was a good mother, and damn it all if she didn't look incredible 24/7. Not that he was looking at Brendan's wife like that, because he _wasn't_, but for the first time in over two years his body wasn't driven by blinding rage or pain, and it was starting to think of the baser things that had been ignored for too long.

He'd never been a guy who did the whole "relationship" thing, there hadn't been time, but in the Corps, there was _nothing_ better than going off base on furlough for a few days. He'd been stationed at Camp Pendleton in southern California, near San Diego, and going to the bars and catching women coming off the beach, all tanned and still smelling like coconut tanning lotion, looking for a little no strings attached company for the weekend, now that was fun. Manny used to call him an assassin, joking that he could slay anything he set his sights on, and back then he was right.

But that was then. When the pain of Mom's death and Brendan bailing on him was dulled with the fact that he had a new family he loved, it was the happiest he'd been since he was an oblivious kid. And then there was that horrific day in the desert, and the end of it all.

After the AWOL, when he finally made it back into the country, he remembered bits and pieces of getting absolutely annihilated drunk in a seedy South Boston bar and ending up in some girl's bed. He woke up with his pants down around his knees and near a puddle of vomit on the floor that he was pretty sure was his. It wasn't his finest half-hour, that was for damn sure, and he couldn't even remember if they'd had sex. Judging by the whiskey that he'd practically mainlined the night before, if he'd even managed to get half-hard he needed to pat himself on the back.

AWOL…Tommy closed his eyes as he could feel his heart begin to pound at the memories that began to come back; he was going to have to go there today, willingly. He was going to have to tell a fucking stranger his business.

He shook at his head and stared at his face in the mirror, it was just six months. He had to fucking suck it up and get through it, be a fucking man and smile and nod his head and get the hell out of there so he could get back to the gym. Because there was no doubt that the first thing he was doing when he could get out and about was heading straight to a gym and beating the shit out of a bag.

* * *

There were probably less dignified things a 31 year-old man could find himself doing. But wearing brand new clothes bought by your sister-in-law, while wearing a GPS home confinement bracelet on your ankle, while you get driven to a therapy by your big brother in his brand new F150, while he gives you his own Yoda advice the entire way talking about how this Doctor was supposed to be the best in the state for dealing with military and veterans – yeah, fuck that, this _sucked_.

"Tommy, are you even listening?" Brendan asked as he turned to him with a raised eyebrow and a note of irritation.

"No," He frowned instantly, his temper finally getting the better of him. "Damn, Bren, give me a fucking break alright?! I already don't want to do this; I don't need your yapping bullshit on top of it."

Brendan went quiet for a moment and he stared out of the window as Tommy brought up his hands to scrub at his face angrily. He was just trying to help him. "Look," He grumbled, "I'm sorry for being an asshole, I already owe you fucking everything, it's just…" His hands gestured absently towards the looming medical building that was steadily coming closer to them, "I don't know if I can do this."

Christ he sounded like such a whiny fucking bitch.

But just like he knew he would, his brother pulled into a parking spot and put his hand on his shoulder. "Tom, I know it isn't easy." His voice was really calm, and for a moment Tommy wondered if that was the way he talked to the kids in his class, he kinda wanted to see that. He squeezed his shoulder to get his attention and looked at him with strength in his normally relaxed stare. "But you can do this, Tommy. After everything else, this is nothing."

He couldn't look him in the eyes anymore, there was just too much there, so he focused on picking off an imaginary piece of lint off of his navy blue polo shirt, nodding wordlessly in agreement.

"I'll swing back in an hour and a half or so," Brendan said with a gentle pat, "Unless you want me to go in with you."

His grey eyes narrowed, "I think I can handle that without you holdin' my hand."

A smirk was all he got in response to the jab. "I'll see you in a little bit."

* * *

Tommy walked into the building and made his way to the window, staring at the few people that were scattered in the too-bright waiting room as they absently flipped through magazines he couldn't help but wonder what was going on with them. It was kind of easy when people were coughing and sneezing to know what was wrong with them, but these people all looked normal. The thought that they were sick with something that you couldn't see scared the shit out of him far more than he wanted to admit.

A cute little blonde in bright purple scrubs opened the sliding glass window and stared at him with a sweet smile and nice brown eyes. He couldn't help the way his eyes darted to the generous curves that were hidden beneath the loose shirt; damn it had been a long fucking time since he'd been with a woman.

"Hi," She said as she gently bit her lip, definitely checking him out, "Can I help you?"

Somewhere in the moment when she asked that question, and before he answered, Tommy's cock somehow hijacked his brain. Suddenly all he could think was how those pretty pink lips would feel amazing on his body, and lower, how long had it been since a girl had given him a blow job?

Thankfully the sturdy denim of his jeans managed to keep things under control and he politely answered, "Yeah, uh, Tommy Conlon, I have an appointment at ten."

Her fingers clicked on the keys for a minute before she grabbed a clipboard and a pen, "Okay, Tommy, I just need you to fill this out and have a set it'll be just a minute and Dr. Cournoyer will be right with you."

"Thank you." He answered as he took it and found an empty seat in the corner and stared at the paperwork.

It was all really standard stuff, name, date of birth, social security number, but suddenly he was on to simple stuff that most people had no problem putting down that he wasn't really sure of. Like address and phone number. He was pretty sure from his confinement paper work that he'd memorized the land line that Brendan had installed just for that reason, and he was 99% sure that it was 417 Maple Avenue.

Then he got to the really depressing shit. Marital Status- he stared up at the blonde and figured, "trying to work on getting head from your receptionist" was inappropriate, so he went with "single". Work- nope, not doing that at the moment, so "unemployed". It was really pathetic how many blank spaces there was.

And then there were the medical questions.

Have you, or anyone in your family had any of the following: Alcoholism- check, Cancer- check, Mental Illness…

Tommy could feel his chest starting to hurt again like it had this morning, something akin to rage and anger was bubbling up inside him and he just left the rest of it blank. He signed the bottom just as a side door opened and an older nurse that must have been in her sixties looked at him, "Tommy? Come on in."

She walked him to a small nurse's station, took the clipboard from him, and grabbed a chart and a thick folder that he could see had all his information in it. Apparently it wasn't hard to get everything on him. "Okay," She breathed as she pointed to the scale, "Let's just get a quick height and weight on you."

He unlaced his heavy boots and climbed on, staring intently as she slid the weight, he was 175 pounds, already down ten from Sparta, and it didn't take a fucking rocket scientist to know that was muscle mass that was vanishing. He had to ask Brendan about using the weights in the garage or something, because if he waited another five months he was going to be a damn lightweight when he hit the gym. But the good news, he was still a towering 5'10'', at least he hadn't shrunk.

The nurse smiled as she tried to get the blood pressure cuff on his arm and had to get a larger size, "My, those are some arms you got there, young man." She listened as she inflated it and she frowned a little as she did it again and then checked his pulse. "Are you feeling alright? You are a bit high, 190 over 89, and your pulse is about 120."

"Nervous," He managed to mumble with a shrug of his shoulders.

A reassuring look came over her calm features, "You'll be just fine."

When the basics were done she walked him down the hallway to an office with a little plaque outside for "Dr. L. Cournoyer, Psy. D" and gestured at it with a wave, "Here you are, go on in." Tommy mumbled his thanks as he took a deep breath and walked in.

He didn't know what to expect from a shrink, his first instinct was an old guy with glasses and a cardigan, and his newly woken porno-inspired mind prayed for a hot brunette with a nice rack and a sweet round ass, but instead he ended up with a strange combination of the two of them.

A woman that looked to be about his mother's age, but definitely without the hardships, with short perfectly styled auburn hair and deep green eyes walked to meet him at the door with a smile full of perfectly straight white teeth that made him feel like a twelve year old boy. She wasn't wearing a lab coat, or anything that reminded him of a shrink, instead she was wearing a perfectly tailored grey pinstriped pants suit with a red top underneath her jacket and a pair of matching high heels on her small feet that he didn't think women wore at her age. In fact they were tall enough that she was almost his height. He couldn't stop himself from noticing she didn't have a bad figure for her age either, the curves were still there in all the right places.

"Come on in, Mr. Conlon," She said in a very pleasant voice as she extended her hand. "I'm Linda, please call me that." He nodded and shook her hand, before she turned and led him to a comfortable black leather chair, gesturing for him to sit before she did the same across from him.

Tommy looked all around the well appointed office, noticing pictures everywhere of a little boy with blonde hair and blue eyes, and later a teenager with the same features in a graduation cap and a pretty red-head next to him, and finally a portrait of the same young man, this time in his Marine dress uniform. He recognized it as the formal picture that was taken at the end of boot camp right before graduation. Finally his eyes lit on a triangular wooden case that displayed an American flag; the kind that came off of a casket and handed to the next of kin at a military funeral.

"That was my son, Eric." She said as she noticed his stare. "Went into the Marines after high school to be like his father, he was an MP."

Tommy felt his throat dry up, but he had to know. "How did he die?"

"In 2003, two weeks after the invasion, just outside of Baghdad, there was a suicide bomber. They took him down but he went to detonate, and Eric dove on top of him. He saved the rest of his unit from the explosion. He was twenty-three."

He could feel his stomach twisting painfully and he could literally feel the tears filling his eyes as he stared at the carpet, he could see Manny's face, smell the scorch of burnt flesh and blood. He thought he was going to be sick.

"Are you alright, Tom? Do you need something to vomit in?" She asked calmly, her voice in a strange tone of both force and soothing balm; it worked enough to snap him out of it.

"I'm good." He shrugged as he sniffed and avoided her eyes, his body coming back under his control so he could instantly clamp down on his racing thoughts. He couldn't look at her.

Linda stared at him for a beat, analyzing him, before she pulled out his folder and raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow as she sorted through the paperwork. She let him wait for almost five minutes as she moved through each and every piece of paper in front of her before she closed the folder and put it on the table. She sat back in her chair and crossed her legs as she gently rested her hands on her leg. "You have some serious blank spaces in your history here."

Tommy instantly felt his hackles rise up at her tone and her question, what the fuck did she expect? Did she actually expect him to write down all the shit with Mom and his childhood on her little form?

"Yeah, well, it is what it is," He grumbled as he sat back in the chair and crossed his arms tightly over his chest.

"So, this is going to be our six months?" She pressed; there was a note of scolding irritation in her voice, like she was reprimanding him. "You are going to sit in front of me with your arms crossed like a little kid who holds his nose to eat a plate full of peas?"

Tommy was beginning to seethe, who the fuck _was_ this bitch? Wasn't she supposed to care about him and be all nice to him and shit?

"Hmm?" She asked again. "Care to answer?"

He lost it. "What the fuck to you want from me?! Damn, I just got in here and you are all over me, fuck off, I ain't tellin' you shit. I don't know you and I don't talk to people I don't know."

"Good," She said with a smile, "Much better, we can work with anger, Tommy, but we can't work with indifference."

"So you gettin' me all pissed off is gonna help me talk about deserting my unit and getting the shit beat out of me as a kid by my drunk Pop?"

A confident sparkle lit in her green eyes at his outburst, "I think it might be a real place to start."

* * *

Tommy didn't want to admit it, but almost two hours later he left her office with a tiny bit of a feeling that his brother was right about being able to handle this therapy thing. And it didn't hurt that Linda was a damn funny lady just as much as she was demanding and really genuinely caring. Not to mention the fact that she could tell a raunchy joke like the best of them and she was a diehard Steelers fan. So they spent a fair bit of time grousing about last season and the current one.

But what he liked the most was she made sure to break things down really simply, so he could understand it. Complicated things like PTSD, flashbacks, rage and panic attacks, and that made him feel like he could talk just a little bit, even if it was more about the fact that he was starting to get short of breath all of a sudden for no reason, than anything else.

Linda had cocked her head when he said it, and reached to the table into a glass candy dish to pull out a peppermint pinwheel candy before offering him one. He took it and she stared at him thoughtfully as he sucked on it for a few seconds before she spoke, "I think this is stuff starting to come out, Tommy, and that's a good thing. You have been so focused for so long on survival that your mind hasn't had a chance to process what you have been through. Our bodies don't like being off, and now that you are calm and safe it wants to heal itself. Hate and hurt is heavy baggage, we have to help you let it go."

She'd talked to him a little about breathing exercises and smiled as she showed the candy that was still in her mouth, explaining to him that sometimes distracting the mind was a good way to soothe it. Tommy freely mentioned that he was constantly chewing a toothpick or something, and she added in a motherly tone that sugar-free candy was probably a little better for his teeth.

She liked to reference song lyrics a lot, apparently her husband was a big Springsteen fan. They left the session on a thought that was still swirling in his head, "It's a sad man my friend, who is livin' in his own skin and can't stand the company."

Tommy walked out of his appointment with his hands in his pockets of his jeans, in an infinitely better mood, and another appointment in three days. He looked up to see his brother's truck across the parking lot. Plans started to swirl in his momentarily calm mind, he wanted to train again when his confinement was over, and he wanted to train here in Philadelphia.

A small nagging thought reminded him that he didn't train with strangers, but a bigger part of him knew that there was no way he was going back to Pittsburgh. Maybe Brendan could talk to Frank Campana and see about getting him back in shape when the time came. After all, if he'd coached him to victory in Sparta he damn sure knew what he was doing.

But he was _not _walking out to fucking Beethoven.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: And here we are back to the present, catching up with Michelle after she left Frank's gym in Chapter One. There is definitely a lot in here about her, so I hope that you enjoy it and it makes you wonder just a bit!**

**Also I just wanted to say as always, thanks for the follows and the reviews! This story has gotten a bunch already, but I'd really love to hear what you all think. It definitely helps things along! So, yeah, please, please, please, review. ; ) **

**Enjoy!**

* * *

Michelle made in through rush hour traffic and across the city to the ice rink with only fifteen minutes to spare. There had barely been enough time to swing by a sandwich shop and grab a foot-long tuna sandwich on whole wheat bread. Sadly half of it served as the lunch she was too busy to eat earlier, and the other half was going to be her dinner after lessons. She absently stared down at the mess of crumbs that was all over her lap. Eating and driving was not the smartest habit in the world.

Her phone rang in her pocketbook and snapped her out of her pitiful daze. She fished down to the bottom of her huge bag before she found it and answered with a sigh.

"Hello?"

"Hey, sweetie, how are you?" The warm voice of her mother Jeanette came through the receiver and Michelle couldn't help the smile that came with it.

She had grown up in a very close knit family; well, she was close with her mother and her two brothers. Michelle was the only girl and the middle child, Michael was two years older than her, and Derek was two years younger. Her brothers had been her protectors growing up, which probably had a tiny bit to do with why she was single in high school…one of the reasons anyway. They were tall, former high school and college hockey players who stood over six foot five, still athletic now, even in their sedentary lives as engineers, and they were both married. Their wives were nice, for the most part.

Truthfully, she missed them; she _really _did- but not exactly enough to go home.

"I'm good Mom, getting ready for lessons right now and other than that I've just been working. How about you?" She answered as she got out of the car and brushed the sandwich crumbs off her pants, before walking to the hatchback to grab her duffle bag.

There was a long silence on the line and she knew where the conversation was going to happen before she even said a word. "I'm great, work has been nuts like always. I keep saying if they keep making me to the job of three executive assistants they need to pay me like I'm three people…"

She was rambling…there was only one reason why her mother rambled.

"Um, oh yes, I just wanted to remind you that your father's birthday is in a couple days, and we were going to try to get the whole family together in a few weeks. Michael is still in California on that job with KeyTech, so we'll have to wait until he comes back. But Dad wanted to make sure that you could make it."

Michelle frowned as she closed the back of her Jeep. "Daddy wanted to make sure that I could come?"

"Of course, honey." She answered.

Michelle pinched the bridge of her nose and she could literally feel a headache rising up to squeeze her temples like a vise. She really tried to hide the bitterness in her voice, but it just rolled off her tongue, "Mom, I'm almost 31, can you please stop doing that? I understand that you want to get the family together, but can we just leave it at that and not sugar coat stuff."

She didn't have "Daddy Issues". And she didn't have them because she didn't speak to her father. Paul Jordan was a blue collar, hard-working, third generation elevator repair man. He was the textbook definition of a stubborn French Canadian, and was never really affectionate to anyone, her mother included, but towards his only daughter he was particularly distant. It had only gotten worse with time, and after her fifteenth birthday, he just stopped trying all together.

On some level she didn't blame him after everything that happened.

"Honey," Her mother's voice snapped her out of it and she cleared her throat as cars started to fill the parking lot all around her. If she didn't get a move on she was going to be late.

"Yeah, um, look Ma, I have to go." She said quietly, "Just let me know when you guys are all getting together and I'll really try to be there."

"Alright, Mich, I love you."

"Love you too, Momma."

She hung up and chucked her phone in her purse, taking a deep breath before she shook her head back and forth and walked towards the rink.

* * *

The instant Michelle pushed through the doors, the cold almost metallic smell of manufactured ice triggered a sense of calm and balance in her body that had been conditioned over time. The rink had been her home growing up. She'd been a figure skater for the better part of her life, a serious competitor in her youth, but now she kept coming back to share her love of the sport with a new generation of kids.

And she loved every minute of it.

In fact it was actually the first thing she'd done when she got Philadelphia. She went through the phone book and called the local skating clubs asking if they needed anyone with a USFSA membership certified for coaching, or an instructor. She finally found the Wissahickon Skating Club that was just north of the city, and they needed a program director, so she immediately hopped on it.

It wasn't for the money; in fact she was making $75 a week for overseeing the 90 minute classes twice a week, but it was fun. Monday nights were the younger kids, and Wednesdays were the more advanced crowd. She had been tossing around the idea of doing private lessons, but lately things at the gym had been so busy that she didn't want to commit to someone and end up being a disappointment.

She smiled at a group of girls and boys on the bleachers with their parents as they suited up in their skates and protective gear. The little ones always were her favorite to teach. The Monday group usually ranged from four year olds all the way up to pre-teens. It covered about six different levels, and it was mandatory for all kids under six to wear helmets, knee and elbow pads.

They were so stinking adorable.

Michelle walked into the player's box area and flopped down next to the lanky form of one of her teachers, Dean. He was a 17-year-old string bean who taught lessons to pay for his own. She had a great team, aside from Dean; she worked with a 23-year-old college student Kim, and her 21-year-old sister Trish.

They each had two groups of skaters and concentrated on a half hour of lesson time and then forty-five minutes of practice time for the kids to apply their lessons, with a fifteen minute warm up for everyone.

Michelle just sort of supervised everything, giving advice where it was needed, and generally being the one in charge of dealing with the occasional overzealous parent.

She toed off her right sneaker and pulled up her track pants on that leg to mid-thigh as she fished into her duffle bag to pull out her heavy duty knee brace. It was similar to the type football players wore for stability with Velcro across the top and bottom, and metal supports on the side that were hinged to allow freedom of movement for a weak joint. Her eyes automatically went down to stare at the almost eight inch vertical scar that ran from the bottom of her thigh, and through her knee to the top of her shin.

It was the result of a car accident and a total knee replacement when she was a teenager, and even after fifteen years the thick white scar still looked like an ugly railroad track, even on her pale skin. She hated looking at it, and it remained the one thing about her body that embarrassed her to no end.

It was the reason she never wore shorts or skirts that were above her knee in public – _ever_.

She slid on her brace, being mindful of the metal hinges on the sides as she pulled her pant leg down, before she took off her socks and sneakers and slid on her well-worn skates. The leather was buttery soft after years of use and it felt like putting on a pair of comfy slippers. She looked over at her group and smiled as she grabbed her clipboard, "Alright guys, let's go!"

* * *

Her blue eyes thoughtfully scanned the ice as she watched the littlest skaters learning how to stand up from the ice onto their skates and marching in place before they hesitantly started to march forwards. They utilized rubber highway construction cones for kids that were really unstable on their feet, aside from being the perfect height they were also soft and crumpled if they happened to fall on them.

Michelle laughed at Dean as he chased after an adorable little girl with blonde curls poking out beneath her pink helmet. She was making a bee-line across the length of the ice to where the older skaters were practicing.

"You are a wild woman!" He chuckled warmly as he finally wrangled her. "Get over here, you!" She was new, Michelle recognized almost everyone that had been coming for the six months that she was there. It was always good to see new kids in the program.

She thoughtfully glided across the ice with a few pushes until she noticed another new skater, a thin girl with her long brown hair tied back in a pony tail in a pair of black skating pants and a pink North Face fleece. By her height and her face, she put her at about seven or eight. She had a very serious look on her face as she used the half circle painted on the ice for the hockey net position to practice her forward crossovers and her edges. While all the other girls in her group were off giggling and goofing off instead of practicing, she was completely engaged in the task that she'd been given to complete.

Michelle cocked her head to the side as she watched the focused and determined look on the little girl's face as she tried over and over again to emulate what she had been taught in her lesson. Her posture was good, aside from the fact that she kept looking down at her feet. The simple shift in balance was causing her to fall off the edge and lose momentum, rocking up on her toe.

A tell-tale wobble of her slender ankles is the piece of the puzzle that she's been looking for. Michelle checked out her skates, they were new, no doubt about that, but they looked suspiciously like the type that was purchased at a sporting goods store. And while people normally shelled out $50-$100 for them, it was like any other sport, if you wanted high performance you needed high performance equipment. She skated over and smiled as the little girl looked up at her with a shy, nervous smile.

"Hello," She said as she extended her hand, "I'm Michelle Jordan."

"I'm Emily Conlon," The girl answered her with a very timid shake with a neon pink gloved hand.

"Practicing your edges?" She asked.

Emily nodded, "They are kinda hard."

Michelle smiled, "They take a little getting used to, but it is really important to get them down pat, because so many of your other moves will build off of them. Can I give you a little advice?"

The little girl's hazel eyes went wide with excitement, "Yes, please!?"

She skated to the boards and balanced her clipboard on the edge before she rejoined Emily. "Alright, first thing that you always have to remember is that when you are skating, no matter what move you are doing, your upper body always remains fixed. You have to pretend that there is a bowl of soup on your head and you don't want to dump it. So you always keep your head up and your back straight, and no staring at those feet, they aren't going anywhere. Arms are always out and they point to where you want to go, and your shoulders are back. If you need to turn you turn at the waist only." Michelle stood on one side of the half circle and demonstrated first a forward inside edge, and then an outside edge, before doing it on the other foot. "See, just like that."

Emily watched her with an intense focus before she tried to repeat it. This time her posture was perfect, but her feet were still wobbling a little. She really needed better skates. Michelle frowned for a second, wondering how to go about this conversation with a parent. Skating was an expensive sport, and it wasn't easy for everyone to afford the equipment, clothes and ice time that were necessary to be successful. But it was obvious the girl had drive and focus, not to mention great balance, and there was no way that she was going to be able to do it like this.

"Hey, Emily," She asked with a smile, "Is your Mom or Dad here tonight?"

She nodded, "Yes, my Mom is right over there, watching my little sister." She pointed to an attractive thin blonde woman who was waving to the little girl with the curls and the pink helmet that was still marching everywhere.

"Keep practicing those edges, alright; I am going to go tell her what a great job you are doing." Michelle said with a smile.

"Thanks, Miss Michelle." Emily beamed as she went back to her work.

* * *

Michelle grabbed her clipboard and skated over to the bleachers, stepping out onto the rubber mat and waving to the very pretty woman who was nursing a cup of hot chocolate from the concession stand. She walked over and Michelle noticed that she was smartly dressed in a pair of nice designer jeans with cute floral print ballet flats and a purple fleece jacket. Her long blonde hair was soft and bouncy and her makeup was perfect, and when she caught sight of the stylish sunglasses that were perched on her head that definitely weren't knockoffs and the new Coach bag- she figured that talking about Emily's skates wouldn't really be too big a problem.

"Hi," Michelle said with a smile and an extended hand, "I'm Michelle Jordan, the program director here."

"Tess Conlon," She replied shaking her hand and the bright sparkle in her eyes reminded Michelle of Emily's, "This is my girls' first night here, we used to go to another rink and they just cut the lessons. Well Em did, she's been skating for two years, Rosie my youngest just started tonight, but she's been roller skating for six months. I have to tell you, I am just so impressed with your teachers."

"Thanks so much," Michelle said as she listened to the proud mother and laughed as they both turned to watch little Rosie toddle with more and more confidence as Dean wasn't far behind. "No fear, that one." She said and Tess laughed.

"Yeah, she's just like her Dad."

"Emily is really dedicated," She offered warmly, "I'd like to think after all this time I know it when I see it."

Tess was quiet, and a very thoughtful grin tugged at her lips. "She always concentrates so hard, and she's very gifted athletically. Sometimes I wonder where she gets that God given talent from. I mean her father and I aren't slouches, but we have to bust our butts, and she just does it."

"That's actually what I came over here to talk to you about." Michelle said. "Please don't take this as being rude, but you really should think about looking at a pair of good skates for her. She's starting to develop her skills and the ones that she has aren't going to give her the support that she needs to be able to do what she needs to do."

"Oh," Tess frowned. "Where should I get them?"

"Well, here's the thing," She explained. "I probably wouldn't get her a brand new pair at her age, her feet are growing so fast that she's going to need a new pair every year, and by the time she breaks them in she's going to have outgrown them. I actually recommend going to a second-hand sports store until she's like twelve or so. There's actually an awesome one across the street that's open until nine on Mondays, if you are interested I wouldn't mind heading over there with you after lessons. You can probably get a great pair for like thirty or forty bucks."

Her face lit up, "That is so sweet of you! I'd love to, thank you so much."

"Awesome," Michelle said as she checked her watch, it was just about time to call it quits. "Let me call everyone in and we'll get over there."

* * *

It only took fifteen minutes to thank the group and get changed back up into her sneakers; she wiped off her blades and waved to Dean, Trish and Kim, telling them she'd see them on Wednesday before she grabbed her bag and her purse and turned to see Tess and her two girls waiting at the door.

"Ready to go?" She asked with a smile.

The little one looked up at her with narrowed bright blue eyes, "Who are you?"

"Rosie," Tess scolded gently, "That is not nice."

"It's Miss Michelle," Emily stared at her sister pointedly. "She is in _charge_, so you need to be polite to her."

Her eyes went wide and Michelle crouched down to make her more comfortable, "It's very nice to meet you, Rosie."

The five year old grabbed her mother's legs, as if suddenly turning shy before toeing the ground with her tiny sneaker. "You are really pretty."

"Thanks," She said with a laugh, "You three are too. Do you want to come and check out some skates with me for your sister?" After getting a smile and a little nod Michelle stood up and walked out with the entire family following her.

* * *

'Second Time Around Sports' was right across the street, and was blessedly empty when they walked in and made their way over to the back wall where there were probably thirty pairs of skates in varying conditions of wear hanging on the wall. Michelle turned to Emily, "What size shoe do you wear honey?"

"Um, like two."

"Okay, usually you want to go a size down in skates because they run big." Michelle's blue eyes darted along the wall as she walked. "Reidell makes awesome skates, and what's even better is that you can wear them throughout your career, you just upgrade to better boots and blades as you go."

She finally settled on a pair of practically brand new skates and snatched them off the wall. "Have a seat kiddo."

"Those look like they have never been worn," Tess said with a smile.

Emily sat down and took off her sneakers, and Michelle took one look at her thick cotton socks. "Okay, Mom, we gotta do nylons or thin socks from now on. It's better for her feet, she'll actually be warmer. I actually skate barefoot, but I've had my skates so long they feel like slippers."

Luckily there were some disposable nylons in a little box and after she laced up her feet she had her stand up and checked the fit behind her ankle and had her wiggle her toes. "Now they should be a little snug, but not tight or hurt you. How do those feel?"

"Really good," Emily said nodding.

"Awesome," She said as she showed Tess the tag on the back, they were thirty dollars.

"I paid more for the other ones! That is incredible."

Michelle laughed, "Hey I have years of knowledge here, I'm glad it was actually useful." She helped Emily unlace her skates and get her shoes on before she looked at the now beaming eight-year-old. "Last thing, Emily, and this is really important. You always have two types of guards for your blades, okay. You have hard plastic ones that you throw on at the rink if you have to go off the ice and walk on the mats for a while, like if you have to go to the bathroom. But at the end of the lesson, you make sure to wipe them really dry with a towel that you always keep in your bag and then you put soft booties on. The plastic ones can actually damage them if they are left on for a long time."

She nodded with a straight face and after they picked out a pink pair of plastic guards and some matching cotton booties, including a matching set for Rosie, they walked up to get the skates sharpened and check out. The total came up to just under sixty dollars, and Michelle smiled, "Sorry about making you drop extra money, tonight. Hope your husband won't be upset."

Tess waived her off, "Please, even if he was, he has a habit of making decisions and informing me later, so he owes me one. Besides, Em really needed this."

* * *

After everything was sharpened and bagged up, they all stood in the parking lot and Michelle checked her watch. It was a little after 8 pm, and she was starving. And somehow the three hour old tuna sandwich that was sitting in her front seat was less that appetizing. What she really wanted was a huge cheesesteak with onions and extra cheese and a huge fountain Coke. She debated with herself that it was possible, provided she put a little time in on the treadmill tomorrow between her appointments.

"Well, thank you so much ladies." She finally said with a smile. "I had fun shopping with you guys."

"No, thank _you_," Tess said. "I am so glad I found this skating club, you were beyond sweet tonight, Michelle, and I am so glad the girls get to work with you."

She could actually feel herself blushing a little under the woman's effusive praise and she waved it off with a laugh and a smile. "Alright, I have to get going, but I hope that I'll see you guys next week."

Rosie and Emily nodded and grinned, "Yes, Miss Michelle," they answered in unison.

Their perfect manners were absolutely adorable.

Michelle waved to the Conlon girls as she climbed into her Jeep feeling a sense of warmth in her stomach at the thought that she had made that little girl's night. But she was also interested in helping her out in her lessons, she'd seen a little fire in Emily Conlon that she instantly recognized as one that used to burn in her, and that deserved to be nurtured.

She heard the "beep" of her phone, signaling that a text had been received when she climbed into her car and she pulled it out of her bag. It was from Frank Campana and she wrinkled her brow as she stared at it.

_I have a new client set up for you tomorrow, but I need to talk to you first. Can you be in my office for six?_

A meeting?

That was weird. New clients usually consisted of her walking into her office to discover another folder on the ever-growing, mountainous pile and Frank's yellow smiley face stress ball resting on top of it. What could he possibly want to have a meeting about?


	5. Chapter 5

**AN: Sorry for the delay…my head has been all over the place lately! When Le Muse talks you listen. But without further ado…I give you more stuff!**

**As always…thanks for sticking with me, things are just starting to move…I promise you it is going to take a bit…but yeah, it'll be worth it. I promise!**

**Please, please, please read and review! Come on…I see you following…just a little review… ; )**

* * *

Four thirty in the morning was just too early for a human being to be up, out of bed and functioning. Michelle smiled ruefully at the realization that when she was at the height of her skating training as a pre-teen she would have already been a half hour into her ice time.

But that was then. She slapped the screen of her phone to snooze and snuggled up into her fluffy pillow. Just ten more minutes was all she needed.

That was a mistake.

Forty-five minutes later Michelle sat up out of a dead sleep staring at the too bright sunshine. She grabbed her phone, staring in disbelief, before she vaulted out of bed when she noticed the time. "Shit, shit, shit, damn, hell, I am going to be late!"

She ran into the bathroom and jumped in the shower, washing her hair and shaving her legs at a breakneck speed before she jumped out and threw on her usual gym uniform and put her still wet hair into a bun. She brushed her teeth and put on just a little bit of make-up before she grabbed her purse and flew out the door to her car.

Breakfast was in the form of a latte with skim milk and she was loathed to admit, two chocolate covered donuts. She was just cramming the last one into her mouth as Frank pulled into the parking lot beside her car.

She got out and he stared at her indignantly, making a show of pulling his sunglasses down on his nose and staring over the top of them. "Oh no you did not just mash half of that in one bite," He teased.

Michelle tried not to laugh and choke as she forced the raised, airy pastry down her throat. "Inadvertently slept in, had to slum it for breakfast." She frowned and ate the rest of it. "I also scarfed a cheesesteak and a large coke last night, so my ass will be on the treadmill today in between appointments."

"Nice to know you'll be trapped and I'll know where to find you," Frank chuckled as they walked into the already busy gym.

She rolled her eyes as she followed him into his office and took as seat on the soft black leather couch in front of his desk. "Yeah, because I am never around; if you can't find me Campana it is because I am buried behind the avalanche of crap that you pile on top of my desk on a daily basis."

Frank shut the door and laughed as he walked behind his desk to take a seat. "About that," he said as he leaned back in his chair, "I have a new client I need to talk to you about."

She raised her eyebrow- that was new.

Frank took a deep breath, "You know about that whole Sparta thing last year, right?"

Michelle shrugged, "Not really, I was actually talking to Rossta about it yesterday and she gave me the basics. She also informed me, in that subtle Brooklyn way she has, that I am living under a rock for not knowing about it."

He laughed, "It _was_ all over the news and you do work at the gym that trained the winner."

"I try to_ avoid_ the news, and I wasn't here last year." She answered with a smirk.

Frank laughed but stared mostly down at his hands, "Well the guy who won, Brendan Conlon, he's been a good friend of mine for at least ten years. He, uh, he's trying to get his brother Tommy back on his feet."

"Is that the guy he fought?"

"Yeah," He sighed as he put his hands behind his head and rubbed his always mussed hair, "And honestly, I want this guy in my gym about as much as I want a hole in my head. He was an absolute fucking animal during the tournament. Excuse my language. But Brendan is like a brother to me, and I promised to take it on for him."

Michelle couldn't help but smile at the choice of words. She watched the guys, and Aimee for that matter, sparring daily, and to be honest they all looked like animals to her. MMA seemed to be just this side of legal human cock-fighting. Two people in a cage beating the piss out of each other until one submitted.

Frank didn't miss her expression either. "I am serious. This guy pounded people into the mat like they were sides of beef; he straight knocked out two of his three prelim fights, and the third guy they had to pull him off of. And when him and Brendan fought, _Jesus_, the first three rounds, you had to see the look in his eyes. I thought he was going to kill him. I mean he went a round and a half with his shoulder hanging out of the socket."

"And, what, you want me to work with him?" She asked as she chewed her lower lip nervously. "Christ, Frank."

"Brendan says he's been in therapy three times a week for the last six months for his issues. I mean it's court ordered, but at least it is getting done."

Michelle went quiet as her mind started turning. Court ordered therapy. That meant that he'd been to court, and sentenced. She took a deep breath remembering Aimee's rant yesterday and something about the Marines and him going AWOL after his unit was wiped out.

Great, she was going to be dealing with a PTSD freaked out combat vet with a rage problem. And shoulder injuries were a pain in the ass under the best circumstances. They were often reoccurring and damn painful. Her normal regimen included a series of exercises to free the muscle and also a thorough deep tissue massage at the end of every workout to minimize muscle over healing. It took patience and time, and understanding, and judging by their conversation, this guy had none at all.

"I'm not a therapist," She finally spoke out loud to voice her nerves.

"What?" Frank replied. "I don't follow."

She took a deep breath and stared into his questioning hazel eyes, "There's a _physical_ in front of the therapist in my title. I'm not a shrink."

"I'm aware of that Mich," He said slowly, a note of irritation in his perpetually calm voice. "Tommy and I are going to have a long talk when he comes in today. I'm taking him on as a favor to his brother, but he's going to behave and conduct himself like every other athlete at this facility. You know the way I train and what I expect."

Michelle nodded as Frank leaned forward to hand her a huge manila folder filled with medical records. "This is his file, I want you to go through it and be ready for a meeting with him around eight."

"Sounds good," She answered with a hollow smile as she took the information and stood up from the couch with her now cool latte. "I'll see you in a couple hours."

He nodded once and stared down at his desk as he fell into the zen like trance that he often took before he climbed into the ring to coach his fighters, she took that as a sign that their conversation was over.

* * *

Michelle walked to her office and unlocked the small room and flipped on the light, staring at her full desk calendar, covered with scribbled appointments. She ignored them all and sat down with the file she'd just been given.

She sipped at her caffeinated drink and flipped open the information getting the generic health report that was submitted at the beginning of the Sparta tournament for one Thomas Ryan Riordan. The last name was crossed out and "Conlon" was written next to it in black pen. She screwed up her face in confusion and looked at the mostly blank page with a shake of her head. Apparently they didn't really care that much about details. The only spots filled in was date of birth 9/15/81, height 5'10'' and weight 185 pounds.

Okay. Not exactly a tell-all biography.

She moved on to the hospital report about his dislocated shoulder. The records here were much more thorough, a very typical anterior sub-coracoid dislocation with minor damage to the glenoidal labrum and the capusular ligaments caused by trauma. Basically dude's shoulder got popped out from the back underneath that pointy bone that you can feel in the middle of the joint, and when it happened it stretched the hell out of everything around it. But what was really throwing her for a loop was the fact that there was no major damage at all. It was practically unheard of, and of course there were no pictures, just a completely useless photocopy of an MRI.

It was curiosity that got the better of her, and she rummaged through her purse for her iphone and ear buds. After logging onto YouTube and searching "Tommy Conlon Sparta" she was genuinely shocked to see no less than twenty compilation videos. She clicked on the one with the most hits and stared at the small screen. It only took her a second to figure out why his shoulder had managed to stay stable even out of socket.

Even with the size of the picture she could barely conceptualize the physical specimen in front of her. She'd taken countless anatomy classes in college, and she'd worked on athletes from football players to basketball players in her previous job, but never in her life had she ever seen a man built like _that._

His neck and shoulders were massive, cut and lean…and his chest and ridiculous like _twelve_ pack abdominals…it was perfect-all of it. Holy shit, no one here looked anything remotely close to him, even Frank's "champ" Marco paled in comparison.

She leaned closer to the screen trying to make out his face, but it wasn't easy. He was good-looking, that much was easy to see. But her awe was instantly tempered with a strange feeling of fear and nerves when she watched the way he moved in the ring. It was like a pacing tiger, polite and controlled rolls of muscle that barely contained brutal power, and all it took was a nod from the ref and it was unleashed like a torrent on an unsuspecting victim.

He wasn't fighting these men, he was destroying them. She covered her mouth in shock as she watched a total of five minutes of video that showcased his entire tournament appearance before the final.

A loud knock on her office door almost made her jump a foot and she scrambled as she dropped her phone on the desk and jerked her head up to see Marco Santos standing there with a strange look on his face. She exited the browser and ripped the buds from her ear as she tried to close up the folders with Tommy's information in it.

"What?" She finally managed to stutter out.

"It's, uh, seven, we usually do that stretching stuff now." He answered flatly.

"Right," She breathed deeply, "Yeah, I'll be right there."

Marco turned on his heel and sauntered out, thankfully leaving her alone. It took her a second to realize that she was actually shaking. Her hands were trembling, her cheeks were burning, and her heart was racing. She tried to rationalize it, watching Tommy had absolutely scared the shit out of her. That was the only explanation for it.

But suddenly the thought dawned that she'd have to be alone with him when she rubbed him down after a workout… all that power under her hands…a ghosting tingle danced low in her belly, before writhing and twisting, falling lower and lower until it settled between her legs with a tiny cramp.

She swallowed hard at the uncomfortable recognition that her terror was mingling with something else. How long had it been since she'd felt something like that from just looking at a man…had it _ever _happened?

Michelle shook her head hard and actually slapped her own cheek. She needed to wake the fuck up, she was a goddamn professional. She was acting like some sort of teenage girl, she hadn't even met the man for godssakes; she'd seen him on a crappy tiny phone screen. Her practical side instantly clamped down, smothering out the foolish thoughts that chattered through her mind, and with that settled she stood up and stormed out of her office towards the floor where Marco was waiting for her.

* * *

Tommy had been sitting in the parking lot of "Soul of a Lion Gym" for the past half hour. It had taken a mini temper tantrum this morning for Brendan to let him go by himself. He was _not _having his big brother walk in there with him like it was his first day of school. It was bad enough that he'd probably already talked to Frank about him. He probably sat there all calm and shit and promised that he'd behave.

He tried not to get pissed…hearing Linda's voice in his head that he needed to be responsible for the behaviors that he'd done in the past. The way he'd acted.

He unconsciously reached into the pouch of his hoodie and pulled out a peppermint candy, fiddling with the wrapper before peeling it off and popping it into his mouth. He tried really hard not to smile; he went through like a bag of the sugar-free candies a week, and he was definitely going to have to give it up when he started training. They were 15 calories a pop. But it was a small price to pay to keep his head clear.

The clock on the dash of the Camry said 7:50. That was another thing that irritated him to no end; his brother had given him his old car. No strings attached, just tossed him the keys and said, "Use it as long as you want, Tommy." And oh, yeah, his new smart phone too, because, "It's just another $35 a month on the family plan, Tommy, it'll be more expensive for you to get a cheap one on your own."

Then like clockwork Linda's voice again reminding him that there was nothing wrong with someone helping you, that was a normal behavior for a family member.

He frowned and shook his head, he needed to stop sitting on his ass and get a move on. He got out of the car and shut the door before reaching into the back seat and grabbing his gym bag. He stared at the shiny glass exterior of the building, this was certainly not Fitzy's place, and Colt Boyd's neither. It looked like a place that made a guy who could win tournaments.

As he walked into the gym it felt great knowing he wasn't wearing a little plastic piece around his ankle that screamed "criminal". The home confinement sentence had ended the prior week, and when the parole officer showed up at Brendan's house to pick up all the equipment and have him sign off on it, it felt like a massive black cloud was lifted. All that shit was in the past now, and he was free to deal with the _other_ shit in his life.

He still had another month of his therapy sessions, and he really hated to admit it, and he _definitely_ hadn't to Brendan yet, but Linda had managed to talk him into sticking with it. He was going to go once a week until they both agreed that he was ready for something else.

It was a nice constant in his life. They'd talked a little about the war, and a whole lot about his family past. He'd ended up screaming at her and crying like a girl more than once, but no matter what happened she never changed. She just sat there in her suit and looked at him with a caring look in her eyes and a calm tone in her voice as she kept repeating things, "It's alright, Tommy, this is normal, this means you are healing, please keep talking to me, it's alright."

And he did.

He hated to admit it but at almost six months it was the longest relationship he'd ever been in with a woman. And he had exactly zero chance of getting laid.

She'd said as much in about their third or fourth meeting when he'd been staring off into the distance and kind of at her cleavage at the same time. It was an honest mistake, the woman had a ridiculous rack for almost being sixty, but she'd subtlety lifted her perfectly maintained eyebrow and told him that, "Relationships between doctors and patients are inappropriate." And then in the same breath smirked and added, "Besides, I'm expensive to maintain and you'd be exhausted by the time I was done with you."

Tommy shook his head at the memory with a laugh and with a deep breath, flipping the peppermint candy around his mouth he finally walked into the doors.

* * *

It was like being a little kid in a toy store. Tommy was in absolute awe of the brand new, state of the art equipment that was all around him, including the sparring rings and the athletes and trainers that were all working together like a well oiled machine. There was no musky, moldy smell of old sweat hovering in the air, and everything was lit with natural light from the windows, he felt strangely calm here. The classical music that was playing over the speakers was a bit much, but he'd already come to terms with that after talking to Brendan this morning.

There was no way in hell that someone like Mad Dog Grimes could even _exist_ in a place like this. It was a good sign, and it was the reason he hadn't gone back to Pittsburgh and Colt Boyd's place. Even if he hadn't been in therapy he would have known that there was nothing good to be had there right now. There was too much shit still in his head about Pop, and about his past, he would have fallen right back into the same mindset he was in when he was training for Sparta, and he wanted to stay the fuck away from all that shit.

He wanted to fight without rage, without hurt and pain driving him.

There was a time in his life when he was so focused in the ring when he was wrestling that it brought him joy amidst all the suffering, fear and hurt in his life. Like no matter how much shit he had to deal with afterwards with Pop when he went home, when he was competing, when he was in that ring, it was all gone. He wondered if he could find that place again. Or had he been too damaged…

"Hey, Tommy?"

A voice from behind him spoke up and he barely suppressed the instinctive flinch that came with being surprised. But as he wheeled around lightening fast he was met by the well dressed and well toned form of Frank Campana. He'd met him face to face very, very briefly after Sparta. All he could remember was as Brendan and him were trying to walk out of the octagon, besieged with reporters, fans and the fight staff, Frank was in front of them clearing a path. Tommy had respect for the guy for that, despite the fact that he'd been screaming during the fight for Brendan to "finish him".

"Uh, hey, Frank," He answered uncomfortably, shifting his duffle on his shoulder.

Thankfully the man seemed to sense his mood instantly and nodded his head off to the side, "Let's go sit in my office for a minute and talk."

Tommy followed him, distracted for a moment by a cut, lean woman in one of the sparring rings doing some work with her hands. She was fast and he was actually impressed with the hard packing sound of her fists against the pads. Damn, he didn't know Frank trained chicks.

"UFC has a bantamweight woman's division now," Frank spoke up as he opened the door to a small office. "Have a seat."

"Yeah, I read that," Tommy answered absently as he stared around at the clean space. There was a dry erase board with a few names and dates scratched on it along with the quotes, "Move or die" and "Just believe" along the bottom. There were also a bunch of old white dudes in copies of photographs that he didn't recognize- but the one of Frank and Brendan standing in the press line at Sparta, that one he knew.

"So," Frank said as he sat down behind his desk with a deep breath, "how's it goin' brotha?"

Tommy picked at the hem of his old black sweatshirt as he nodded his head, his eyes on the floor, "It's goin'."

"That's good," He said as if trying to start momentum in the conversation, "You look good, you been working out, eating well?"

"Yeah," Tommy cleared his throat. "A little, I just started running this week, and Bren's got a bench in the garage so I been liftin' a bit. Uh, diet's been decent; Tess is a good cook, and I need to bulk up some before I start cuttin' in anyways."

"What's your weight at?"

"'Bout 179, 180."

Frank nodded, "Not too bad. How's your shoulder?"

Tommy chewed on his lip as he rolled the joint both out of reflex and to illustrate it, "Feels fine, don't hurt at all." And it really didn't, sometimes it was stiff as hell but that was just because he hadn't worked out for a while, it wasn't something a few hard days in the gym wouldn't loosen up.

"That's good." He sat up in his chair, and rested his arms on his desk. Suddenly the amicable, friendly look in his hazel eyes was gone and the cagey, intense stare of a championship coach replaced it. "Look, Tommy, I don't dance around stuff, alright. I run my gym a certain way, and to do that, I expect my athletes to conduct themselves in a certain way. There is no compromise here at all. So I will tell you this just once- that shit you did at Sparta, storming out of the ring, ignoring your competitors and showing no respect to anyone, that don't happen here. Am I clear? You train at my gym and you conduct yourself the same way everyone else does or you are done."

Tommy nodded, the sharp answer to the authoritative tone came out as if he had no control of it, a practiced reflex from years in the Corps, "Yes, sir."

"Alright then," Frank replied. "I have a great physical therapist on staff here; I want them to work with you for a while to assess the condition of your shoulder as you are starting to get back into fighting shape. Once you get the go ahead that you are clear, I will throw you into some of the rotations."

"Thanks, Frank." He answered quietly.

Frank laughed as he stood up, walking to his office door and waving to someone on the floor. "Don't thank me yet, brotha, PT is a bigger pain in the ass than getting hurt the first time, you are in for some serious work."

Tommy smirked to himself as he thought about training with Pop when he was a kid. Having an alcoholic ex-Marine in charge of your routine, yeah there wasn't much that one of Frank's polished little buttoned down physical therapists with their fancy college degrees and little exercises were going to do that was going to scare him.

He knew his body and what it needed, and it wouldn't be very long until whoever it was would learn that too.

* * *

**Oooh we have them in the same building…**


	6. Chapter 6

**AN: HEY! Sorry about the delay guys! My muse has been all over lately, but rest assured I have an obsessive need to write this story, so it is not going anywhere.**

**And we finally have our first face to face! It goes really well…at first ; ) But let's be honest, patience isn't really Tommy's forte…and dare I say Mich is just as bad.**

**As always, your reviews mean the world! And I was so happy to get something like ten for the last chapter, so please keep it up…the interest feeds the Muse…**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

"Come on, get it around, no _all_ the way around, there you go," Michelle nodded at Marco as he stretched out his knee. He was utilizing a resistance band attached to the wall and wrapped around the ankle of his injured leg as he swung it across his body in controlled arcs. His face winced a little and she instantly picked up on it.

"That's why I have been trying to get you to do this," She sighed, trying not to get irritated. "It's not going to matter how much muscle you put on and how hard you kick if you can't pivot and rotate on your knee. Just keep this up, give me twenty more."

Marco grunted and nodded as he forced himself through the routine, and Michelle crouched down to better observe the stability of his joint, when she caught sight of Frank hanging his head out of his office and waving at her with a quick pointing gesture at his wrist that it was time for their meeting. She took a deep breath and tried to ignore the way she could already feel her nerves starting to tingle and buzz in her stomach and the fact that her hands were sweating like crazy. With a sharp shake of her head she stood up and grabbed her pile of folders and her clipboard before she turned to Marco.

"I gotta take a meeting with Frank," She explained unnecessarily, "Do another three sets of five reps and then you are good to cool down."

"Thanks." He grumbled as she walked away.

* * *

Michelle felt completely out of sorts as she walked into Frank's office, of all the things that were buzzing through her head was the fact that she looked like crap, and she was 95% sure that she forgot to put on deodorant in her rush this morning, and lastly where was she going to sit? It was pretty obvious that Frank would be behind his desk, and that just left the leather couch.

So she would just sit next to him on the leather couch…no big deal. She frowned at the raging thoughts that were twisting in her head, she sounded like an absolute moron. It was a guy, a client; that was it.

She took a deep, calming breath as she walked into the office and smiled at Frank who was sitting at his desk. It was a nagging sensation in her peripheral vision, almost a twitch of her senses, and she finally let herself take a look at the man for herself.

It was a huge mistake, like walking into a calculus final exam or something without bothering to study at all. She really should have done her research, watched the fight on her home computer like Aimee had suggested the night before, maybe that would have helped her be more prepared.

Because looking at Tommy Conlon in the flesh was a bit more than she could process at the moment. He was beautiful, in that strange way that unbearably masculine marble carvings of the male form are considered beautiful works of art.

Michelle could feel the tips of her ears flushing bright red, as they were wont to do any time she was experiencing any emotion whatsoever, and she tried not to stare, but it was practically pointless. She was pretty sure that her hormones and her ovaries had hijacked her brain. Because all she could rationalize was the fact that his face was much too perfect for a fighter.

His nose was straight, his jaw was square, even his ears were perfect. It was as if the men fighting him had realized that punching his face was like spray painting on the Sistine Chapel. And his mouth, Jesus _fucking _Christ, did men have lips that full? They were plump, pink and damn it they looked soft even from a distance, it was almost obscene.

But through the haze and cloud she suddenly noticed his eyes. The strange gray-blue orbs were sharply tuned in onto her, and she was shocked to realize everything she saw run through them in an instant. There might have been a strange calm about his body at the moment, but make no mistake, she could see the storm raging just out of sight.

Frank cleared his throat from behind his desk, and suddenly Michelle saw the moment the emotion behind those pewter pools were instantly closed off to her, like someone slamming shut and boarding up a storm window. She recovered quickly though, smiling at her boss quickly before taking a deep breath.

"Sorry for being a little late," She said quickly.

"You are right on time actually," Frank said as he gestured to her still standing form with a smirk. "Why don't you sit down and stay for a while."

Michelle took a few steps towards the leather couch, tentatively moving to sit on the very edge, when suddenly Tommy shifted his weight to give her more space and she slid into the resulting depression left from his heavy frame. She inwardly cringed as she felt herself lose her grip on the binder and folders in her hands, watching helplessly as they slid to the floor.

She tried to keep her head down as she scrambled to pick everything up, her face and her ears were on fire with embarrassment. And she was infinitely mortified yet further, when she saw the broad form of Tommy's body move to help her, his big hands gathering up some of the papers that had flown the furthest.

When she was finally settled she turned to meet him with a self-conscious stare, trying not to notice how incredible he looked up close, mumbling a quiet, "Thank you", before looking back at Frank.

His hazel eyes were smiling at her discomfort, "Well with that out of the way, I'd like to introduce you to one another. Tommy, this is my physical therapist, Michelle Jordan, and Mich, this is Tommy Conlon."

Michelle was thankful for her ingrained manners and professionalism, because without a thought she turned to him with a smile and stuck out her hand for him to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Tommy."

He nodded and reached out to take her hand in a firm but gentle clasp, the rough skin of his palms apparent against her hand, "Nice to meet you too."

His voice was quiet, almost boyish, with a husky rasp and a definite sound of a blue collar Pittsburgh accent, and his manners were impeccable. She was puzzled. This calm spoken man did not look like the absolute animal that she had watched on that video clip only a few hours ago.

"So," Frank sighed, "I guess the two of you are going to be spending a lot of time with one another in the coming weeks. I know you've had a little while to look over his files, Mich, care to share what you recommend?"

Michelle cleared her throat, so very glad that talking about work instantly seemed to pull her out of her funk and reattach her common sense to her mouth. Of course focusing on her boss, and not the solid man that was next to her certainly made the situation easier to deal with, especially when she began to notice that his solid shoulder was touching her, and the heat that he was throwing off through his worn, black hoodie was almost seeming to scorch her skin.

"The information was really, really incomplete," She finally spoke with a sigh, "I was able to get the basics, but there isn't enough follow up here to know what sort of state the joint was in two to three weeks after the injury, that would have been the best time to start working on it." She paused for a minute or two and then let herself turn to look at Tommy for a quick glance. "I want to start really slowly. I have to see where you are now and then go from there. Today I just want to do an evaluation and some very, very light weights."

Frank nodded sagely and crossed his arms across his chest, "You can feel free to do some cardio after, Tommy, I know you said you just started running again, and I want you to start getting back on that. First thing in the morning, I don't want to see you here if you haven't put five miles under your feet."

"Yeah, definitely," He answered. "Running's easy; I'll be back up to ten miles in a week or so."

"Good," Frank replied as he clapped his hands together and checked his watch. "I gotta hit the ring with Marco, so you two can get started."

Michelle stood up with her now more carefully balanced pile of folders. "Work on his pivoting," She nodded to him absently. "He's been slacking on his stretching and I still don't think if you get him on one leg trying to turn and kick or if he's caught balancing 'cause someone is trying to shoot on him, he's going to be screwed. And if he tears again, he's gonna be in a world of hurt."

"Thanks, Drill Sergeant," Frank smiled with a mock salute as she rolled her eyes and turned out of the office with Tommy right behind her.

* * *

Michelle led him back to her office with a wave, walking him through the tiny space into the adjacent room that was mostly filled with the massage table. She was starting to get her wits back about her, and she found that looking at him in his workout clothes wasn't really more than she could handle.

"So," She breathed with a weak smile as she stared over his shoulder her blue eyes arbitrarily focusing on the far wall just to be sure she could concentrate, "If you don't mind I want to see your range of motion and the state of the joint."

Tommy nodded wordlessly, but didn't move, as if awaiting further instructions.

Michelle chewed on her lip as she cleared her throat, "Um, can you take your sweater off?"

He pulled it off from the back and she couldn't help but notice the way a tuft of his hair stood straight up on the crown of his head. It was so incredibly adorable. Well, that was the word in her mind until she looked down at the white wife beater that was stretched tightly over his impressive chest muscles and his trim, solid abs; then it wasn't what she was thinking anymore. There were bits and pieces of his dark tattoos peeking out to look at her, standing out starkly against his pale skin; God he was beautiful. She couldn't stop looking at him, and she couldn't stop the way her palms began to sweat and her heart raced…and below that, there was an unmistakable wet heat at the crux of her thighs that had nothing to do with the workouts she'd been doing before.

It was irritating her to no end. It was just a guy, granted it was probably the most masculine, gorgeous specimen she had ever looked at, but it wasn't like she was a blushing virgin. Alright, that was probably almost the truth by now. She hadn't dated anyone in at least six months, not since she'd been in Philly, and as embarrassing as it was to say…she hadn't had sex in over two years. It wasn't that she was afraid of men or anything like that, she was just a very guarded person, and she didn't like to give freely of herself. Not to mention the fact that she had almost zero patience thanks to the stubborn pig-headedness that she'd inherited from her father, and quite frankly she wasn't really in the mood during sex to lay back and wait for someone to figure out where to touch her when she could get the job done more efficiently herself.

So that was it, she wasn't frigid, she was just really proficient, which brought her back to the present and the fact that the flimsy shirt he was wearing was still going to be in the way, "Can you take that off too?"

He complied instantly, and Michelle had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep her mouth from dropping open. There was no way looking like this was normal. She shook her head to try to collect her thoughts and walked around him to stare at the massive, broad expanse of his back. "Can you lift up your arm and hold it straight out for me?"

She reached out and gently prodded the muscle around his shoulder joint, and he jumped the instant he touched her. "Sorry, I have cold hands," She mumbled as she let her fingertips work into the ropes and cords of thick muscle and soft skin. Her brow furrowed a little as she felt the distinct spidery pattern of healing muscle fibers.

That was the thing about tissue injuries that not many people knew. When the body healed itself, it sent out new collagen fibers indiscriminately without any care for what they were attaching to. The resulting areas need to be removed if not necessary, and those that need to stay, require hard massage to help stimulate the healthy tissue around it. Unfortunately this was an often painful and time consuming process, but it was essential to avoid reinjuring the joint.

And Tommy's shoulder was full of connections that needed to be broken.

"You are really tight," Michelle said quietly. "Does it hurt all the time?"

Tommy shook his head, "No, just needs to be worked hard, ain't nothing I haven't felt before."

She frowned at his less than accurate assessment, "Well you can't work it out until you stretch it, otherwise you are going to end up with a torn muscle."

He was quiet and she scribbled down her notes about what she wanted to do today. It was really, really simple, just 3 sets of 20 reps of a small 5 pound weight as he rested on the incline press and held his shoulder off of it. After repeating the same thing on his stomach, he'd be free to do whatever cardio he wanted to before she finished with a deep tissue massage.

* * *

Tommy followed her out of the therapy room and across the gym floor to some of the free weights. He'd since re-dressed in his white undershirt, and as soon as she gestured to the bench he instantly climbed on, lying back until he was flat and supine. She explained quickly what she wanted him to do and after he nodded that he was alright she stared down at her appointment calendar, noticing that her 9am lumbar injury was waiting for her.

"Alright, Tommy," She said with a small smile, "Just get this done and then you are free to go for as long as you want. Just let me know when you are ready to cool down."

"Yeah, thank you." He answered politely as he began to get to work.

* * *

Michelle was across the gym working with Alberto Zayas, one of Frank's flyweight fighters on the yoga mats. The lean, twenty-two year-old Latino had herniated a couple of disks in his lower back in a fight six months ago, and he finally was back into a condition where he could work on rolling and bending his spine with ease. They were both stretched on the mat on all fours as Michelle calmly counted as they rolled their spine up into an arch, before pushing down through a neutral pose into an extension. He breathed in and out with a little bit of difficulty and she could see the pain written all over his face.

It was times like this when she really hated her job. She could tell, simply by the time that she'd been working with him, that he should have already been able to do this routine with very little difficulty. The fact that he was still having problems was a dead giveaway for the fact that he'd sustained serious nerve damage, and it was a good chance that his days in the cage were over.

But she didn't want to give up on him just yet. She knew what it was like to hear that your dreams were done, and she didn't want to be the one to tell a guy in his early 20's that he was through as a fighter.

"Okay," She smiled. "Let's lie flat and go ahead and do some of the prone backbends. Go nice and easy, alright, Alberto."

He nodded and she began to do the move when suddenly the sharp clink of metal on metal caught her attention. She snapped her head around just in time to see that Tommy was indeed still on the incline press where she left him, but instead of working with a five pound barbell, he was bench pressing what looked like two hundred pounds of weight.

Son-of-a-_fucking_-bitch.

* * *

Tommy impatiently flexed through the workout with the five pound weight in no time. Just like he figured, he felt nothing at all, and Frank's little physical therapist with the fluffy little pussy routine had been useless. Well, maybe not completely useless. She wasn't exactly hard on the eyes. Leave it to Frank Campana to hire a good-looking brunette to work in a gym full of raging, testosterone driven males. It was kinda a far cry from Beethoven to calm down in the ring, 'cause the last thing that makes a dude calm is walking into a massage room in nothing but a towel to have a woman's hands all over him.

With that thought in his mind he looked over to where she'd was working out with a young, thin kid, instantly paying more attention when he noticed she was crouched on all fours, rolling her back up and down, with her ass pointed right at him. The move unintentionally rotated her hips, and he couldn't help but think she'd look exactly like that in a completely different scenario.

A slow, lazy smile spread across his face, he knew he shouldn't be looking at her like that, because they were going to be working together for the foreseeable future, and it was going to make it difficult to say the least if he kept imagining what she'd look like doin' it doggy style. But goddamn, it had been way too long since he'd had the time to look at a woman's body and really appreciate it.

And even though Michelle wasn't wearing any makeup at all, her brown hair was twisted up on top of her head in a plain bun, and she was wearing nothing but track pants and a fitted black v-neck t-shirt, he could tell just by the shape of her figure, that she had goods he wanted to look at.

The truth was he loved women, always had, he liked to think it was being with his mother that had instilled such a strong, abiding respect for them. But, whether that was the truth or not, he was a man who appreciated women and their bodies with a pretty indiscriminant eye. Unlike whatever crazy man that found the pin-thin, sickly looking models in magazines attractive, he was a firm worshiper of a pair of great tits, curvy hips and a nice round ass. Give him a woman who could cook and eat a real meal any day. Not that he was adverse to a tight athletic figure either, but he had a pretty cavemanish mindset that he had enough muscle for two people, and in the dark he liked the feeling of soft, supple skin under his hands when he was doing his thing.

But it had been ages since he'd done that. Damn, too fucking long. Because as much as he loved to look and didn't mind having a good time, it was the respect thing that always put him off one night stands. As if his cock was listening to his brain, it suddenly began to stir and stiffen. He shook his head and looked away from the enticing sight of his physical therapist on all fours, trying not to embarrass himself and tent out his flimsy track pants, because damn it if his head still wasn't going with nasty thoughts.

Yeah, he could think of some real good physical therapy they could get into right on that massage table in her office, and a few repetitive movements that she could help him with that would help him feel a hell of a lot better.

That did it. He sat up with a deep breath as he covertly adjusted his now completely hard dick, and rested his elbows on his knees. He shook his head back and forth hard and pulled out of it, this was not the time to act like the horny fuck he was feeling like. He had work to do, and he could take care of this later in the shower, thanks to the great images she provided that would _definitely_ be happening. But first things first. The minute that he was calmed down enough to stand up and not embarrass himself, he moved to grab a benching bar and load it up with weights.

If he wanted to get his ass back in the cage he was going to have to get it back in gear and get training, and her little five pound weight wasn't going to cut it. After settling back down on the bench again, he braced his feet on the ground and gripped the weight, pushing up with his strong arms and flexing it up, before repeating the move, feeling his body strain against the weight. Ah, yeah, this is just what he needed.

* * *

Michelle was furious as she watched him bench at least ten or fifteen more reps before he replaced the weight and sat up, rotating his shoulder in its socket. She could actually feel her temper rising and her cheeks getting hot, who did he think he was? She had given him specific instructions about what she expected him to do, and he was doing the opposite. She turned to Alberto with a forced smile and told him to take a rest for a minute, as she squared off her shoulders and stormed across the floor to where Tommy was sitting.

He was glistening with sweat, and she tried to ignore the way that his ink stood out even more with a little moisture. She was pissed. "Were you _confused_ about what I asked you to do, or did you just not bother listening to me?" She asked angrily as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest.

Tommy looked up at her, his gray eyes narrowing at her sharp tone and her defensive stance. "No, I heard you just fine. You said to do your 'little thing' with the weight, and then I could do what I wanted." His absent, patronizing hand gesture about her "little thing" officially pissed her right the fuck off.

"Yeah, I meant you could do the cardio Frank cleared you for." She snapped. "At no time did I tell you that you could do free weights, not to mention friggin' bench press two hundred pounds for thirty reps. I want you to stop right now before you hurt yourself."

He rolled his eyes and leaned back on the bench to grab the bar again, completely ignoring her tirade. "Tommy! Hello, are you listening to me or are you just going to play stupid?"

The bar clinked loudly as he sat up and looked at her with a dark expression, his plump, full lips curling into an aggravated grimace and his voice was low and dripping with irritation when he spoke. Gone was the polite guy she met in Frank's office, this was the Tommy Conlon that had fought at Sparta. "Look, I ain't one of these fluffy little pussy fighters who comes and cries for a therapist when I stub my toe, alright. I know my body better than anyone; I know what it needs and what it takes to get it there. I been bustin' ass trainin' the same way since I've been a kid, and I ain't changing how I do it for no one. So you can go ahead with your little clipboard and go help one of these other guys who needs to stretch or some shit, and when I'm done I'll let you know and you can rub me down."

She was absolutely flabbergasted. No one had _ever_ talked to her like that before. Her face was glowing red, and damn her temper, because if she'd been thinking straight she would have come up with something intelligent to say back to him. But instead she turned on her heel and merely snapped like a kid on the playground who had gotten their feelings hurt.

"Fine, do whatever you want, Tommy. When your shoulder blows out and your MMA career is over, call me and my damn clipboard over."


	7. Chapter 7

**AN: Whew...hope everyone that celebrates Thanksgiving had a lovely one...I for one have been eating like a glutton for the past two days...mmm pie. LOL**

**But I've been writing too...see!?**

**So here we have part two of Michelle and Tommy's first day together...it is certainly special...**

**Please, read and review guys! I love all the feedback this story is getting...mwah!**

* * *

Michelle stormed into her office and slammed the door shut behind her as she hurled her clipboard against the wall with a very satisfying _SLAM_.

"Goddamn fucking asshole!" She screamed at the top of her lungs, letting her hands curl into fists tight enough for her nails to dig into her palms.

She stewed for a few minutes, feeling her chest heave with huge, agitated breaths as the blood pressure roared through her ears. She tried to calm herself, but it was no use; she was _furious_. No one had ever, ever, spoken to her like that before. She felt literally slighted on every possible level. It was pretty obvious that he had zero respect for her as a professional, and she had a sneaking suspicion that it also had something to do with the fact that she was a woman.

What else would explain it? He'd been perfectly polite in front of Frank, and the moment that they were alone- BAM instant asshat.

"_You have to command respect with these guys to earn it."_

Frank's words echoed in her head and she sighed as she stared across the room at her clipboard and the paperwork that was haphazardly strewn all over the place. She certainly wasn't behaving like someone who demanded respect this morning. She was behaving like a stereotypical PMS-y raging bitch, and that generally wasn't a way to get anyone to take you seriously, let alone a man who pretty much oozed testosterone like his own personal musk.

Michelle walked across the room and picked up her things, being mindful of putting them back in order and trying to pick up her dignity at the same time. She didn't want to talk to Frank about what happened, because it was becoming more and more clear to her that _every _guy in the gym couldn't be the problem. I mean maybe one or two of them were typical guys, but not all of them. That only left her as the source of the problem, and that was just as upsetting. She tried to think of the people that she worked really well with, and that wasn't hard, it was Aimee and Alberto.

But why them?

She figured Aimee and her got along really well because they were both females, and above that, because they were both familiar with the demands of an athletic lifestyle on their female bodies. And she liked Alberto because he was a kid, she didn't see him as an equal, she saw him no differently than her skating students.

But Marco Santos and Tommy Conlon, they definitely weren't females and definitely weren't kids. They were men, and of course thanks to the wonderful relationship she had with her father, that pretty much meant that she was screwed.

She tossed her stuff onto her desk and flopped down in her chair, rubbing her face with her hands and trying to get some sort of sense into her head. For some odd reason she felt compelled to talk to her older brother Michael, he wasn't particularly close to her in a touchy-feely sort of way, but he was a man's man. A six-foot-six 220 pound mechanical engineer who had done a small stint right after college playing defense for the Providence Bruins, the primary minor league development team for the Boston Bruins, but he'd lost interest in playing hockey when he met his wife Roxanne.

She grabbed her phone and dialed his number, amazingly he answered on the third ring, his deep voice filling the earpiece, "Hello."

"Hey Mike, it's Mich," She sighed. "How are you?"

"I'm good kiddo," He answered, "How 'bout you?"

She didn't even bother to lie. "I'm having a really shitty day."

"Not gonna sugar coat it, there are you?" He chuckled warmly.

"Am I, and I can't believe I'm asking you this, but, am I a bitch?"

There was a long pause, and then he was definitely laughing at her on the other end of the line when he answered. "Come on, why are you asking me that."

Michelle leaned her head back and stared at the ceiling, "Because I think I suck at this job. I can't talk to these guys, they all hate me, and I have no patience at all with them. I think I'm just like Dad."

"What are you talking about, Mich you are a smart girl, and a damn good athlete." Michael answered her seriously. "If guys are giving you shit, maybe you need to try to go about things a little differently. Not everyone is as smart as you are, alright. And as for bein' like Dad, you know we all are, comes with being a Jordan."

"Yeah, I guess." She sighed. "I do just kinda do things and then expect people not to ask questions. I definitely could be more tolerant."

"There you go." He said as his voice trailed off. "Alright, kiddo, I gotta run, talk to you soon."

"Bye, Mike, and thanks."

Michelle put her phone on her desk and stared at the door. She took a deep breath in, and then let it out, time to man up- it couldn't really get any worse.

* * *

After a few minutes fixing up and mentally preparing, she walked out of her office clipboard in hand. Her eyes scanned the busy gym floor to notice that Tommy wasn't on the weights anymore, he was running. Michelle had to shake her head out of it, because he had stripped off the tank top in favor of running in nothing but the loose track pants that were hanging perfectly off his hips, and thanks to her view, from a nicely rounded ass too. He was glistening with sweat, and even from the distance she was at, she couldn't help but be completely mesmerized by the way it made his ink look nice and glossy black.

"I take it you didn't watch the fight," An amused and very female voice spoke from her left side.

Michelle turned her head to see Aimee smirking at her with a raised eyebrow as she adjusted the tape on her gloves. "Oh, hey, Rossta, um, yeah I watched it."

"So, that look on your face like you want to go over there and lick the sweat off his body is just carryover from that huh?" She teased. "Wait until you see him up close. I don't even like dudes and _dayum _that boy is fine."

Michelle frowned, "Yeah I had that pleasure earlier, he's pretty to look at alright, and a huge friggin' asshole that took one look at me and decided that anything that came out of my mouth was beneath the knowledge that he had about training."

Aimee shrugged, "Really? 'Cause I talked to him for like ten minutes before he got on the treadmill, seemed like a nice guy to me, a little quiet even."

"Once again, because you probably gave him a nice ego stroke, and I had the audacity to tell him to go easy before he blew out his shoulder."

"Huh, well that sucks, thought that could be the end of your little dry spell right there, get him to shake the cobwebs out." She supplied with a wink as she nodded to the direction of the ring and one of the trainers who was waving her over, "Gotta go, hey, you wanna come over for dinner tonight around six? Tara's making some kickass salmon recipe she found last week."

Michelle completely disregarded the comment about Tommy in favor of thinking about Aimee's girl's awesome cooking skills, "Yeah definitely."

"Cool. See ya then," she said over her shoulder as she walked off.

* * *

She felt like some sort of weird pathetic stalker as she spent the rest of his workout staring at him from all over the gym as she went about with her next few clients. Somewhere along the line he had slipped in a pair of ear buds, but even almost two hours later he was still running without a break in the steady pace. Michelle felt her ears getting red and couldn't believe the thought that was loudly screaming in her head, if the man had that kind of stamina running, was it any different when he was working hard doing something else?

As if he could pick up her musings from across the room, he finally stopped the machine and grabbed one of the white gym towels scattered all over for the athletes to use. His gray eyes met hers from across the room as he wiped his face, and then his chest and stomach, before throwing the towel over his insanely thick muscled shoulder. He reached into his bag and pulled out a bottle of water and it was like a slow-motion showcase as his thick, full lips wrapped around the opening and he leaned back his head to drain half of it in a long pull.

Christ, she wanted to punch his face not that long ago, and now, she couldn't stop staring at him like he was a grade A prime cut of beef…who was walking over to her.

"I'm all done," He spoke quietly; his voice was raspy and breathless from exertion.

Michelle nodded dumbly, her mind trying to formulate something that resembled an articulate thought. She found that staring down at the clipboard in her hands instead of his amazing abs was definitely a help with that. "Alright, it's best to do a therapeutic massage when your muscles are still warm, the tissue is more forgiving," She unnecessarily explained, trying to do the whole "talking" to the client thing. "So we should do that now."

"Alright."

She could hear the irritation in his tone still from earlier, and she instantly felt her own hackles rise up. It took everything in her to calm down and not snap. "Come on then."

He followed her into her office and she dropped her stuff off with another deep breath, "Just give me a minute to set up."

It only took a moment to lay out a thick towel of the flat table and pull over her tray of oils. She grabbed another towel and handed it off to him, "Um I'll give you a second to get undressed. Just lie on the table face down and drape this across your waist."

Tommy's scarred eyebrow quirked as he took the towel, "You want me to get naked?"

Michelle could feel her ears getting hot, and she knew they had to be glowing bright red. "Yes…" She practically blurted the word out, and in the same instant realized what it sounded like and tried desperately to explain. "Well, uh, I mean it helps with circulation not to have anything restrictive on. If it makes you uncomfortable you don't have to…but, um you should, if you can, take your clothes off."

"It's fine."

She nodded and let him in the room and shut the door behind him, waiting until she was alone to bury her face in her hands. Was there any way in hell she could sound any more like a complete idiot? And then there was the disturbing realization that she was going to have her hands all over an oiled, inked, 180 pounds of naked Tommy Conlon in about five minutes. Damn it. She huffed out an irritated breath as she chewed her lip, when in the hell had she lost her common sense? She'd never, ever been this pathetic about a man. Not to mention an absolute asshole, that had been_ nothing _but rude to her… she shook her head, she was stalling.

Oh, well, there was no time like the present for mortification.

* * *

Tommy was lying exactly like she instructed him to do, and as she walked to the side of the table she tried to concentrate on the technical concepts of therapeutic massage, needing to do anything that would take her mind off the fact that his hard body was just lying there waiting to be touched.

She cleared her throat, "Um, are you allergic to any sort of oils, nuts or herbs?"

His head remained face down on the head rest as his massive shoulders shrugged, "I dunno, don't think so."

"Okay," Michelle said quietly as she pumped a small amount of mentholated oil onto her hands as she took a deep breath and released it slowly. "I'm going to do three different types of strokes, and they are going to get more and more vigorous, please let me know if I am hurting you at anytime." When Tommy didn't reply she took that as an affirmative, and reached out to touch him.

Whatever he looked like, he felt insanely better. He was almost scorching hot from working out and the hard ridges of his broad back felt like marble, like he was a living statue of Michelangelo's David. As she began to knead into the massive span of his trapezius muscles, her fingers actually ached from the density and thickness of the tissue. She moved over to his bad shoulder and tilted her head as she stared at the twisting body of a scorpion that ran vertically along the edge of his joint. His tattoos seemed to glow against his white skin as she oiled him up. Ink had always been something that had she'd found insanely attractive on a guy, as if it was proof he was man enough to wear the story of his life on his skin for all to see.

She had a few of her own as well, the outline of three little rag dolls on the back of her neck. Two boys that were holding hands with a girl to represent her and her brothers, and walking the length of her spine were little foot prints. At the time she'd gotten them it was to remind her that she'd walked far in life, and still had further to go. She wanted to ask him about his…because even though she'd just glanced quickly at them, some seemed to just be stereotypical pictures that any guy would put on their body, there were others that seemed to have a purpose. She had to half laugh to herself that maybe she'd get around to asking him as a way to break the ice and get past their earlier squabble.

Michelle shook her head; there was still plenty of work she had to get through before she could even think about small talk. "Um I am going to do a little friction work on some of the scar tissue and adhesions I can feel on your shoulder. This is going to be pretty uncomfortable, but I am not going to do it for that long."

He nodded and she began to make almost a digging, pinching motion with her index finger as she dug into his back, gripping the muscle hard. Tommy flinched at the pressure and she heard his inhale sharply and then exhale with a pained groan when she got close to where his injury had stretched and damaged the tissue. "Almost done," She said quietly as she continued to work at it, his skin reddening a little from the pressure and the increased blood flow. She stopped a moment later to let the area rest as she relaxed her hands and let them travel in a much gentler path up his spine before moving to his arms, and then to the lower back.

Michelle couldn't help but blush as she worked in the dip of his spine near the cradle of his hips, her eyes darting to the round tight mound of his ass. He shifted suddenly on the table and let out a small low groan and she bit her lip, knowing that he was experiencing a very common side effect of the contact of massage.

"It's completely normal to feel arousal, Tommy, it's just a reflex," She tried to keep her voice steady as she spoke, "If you need to adjust your position or you need me to stop, let me know. I don't want you to feel uncomfortable." He didn't reply and she wondered if he was embarrassed by the entire situation. She normally felt nothing at all; it was merely a biological response to stimulus, no different than a sneeze or something. But somehow, knowing that her hands were turning this gorgeous specimen of masculinity on was starting to get to her. She could feel her stomach twisting and fluttering pleasantly and then for the second time that day, there was a tingle lower, almost a dull ache between her legs. Skin that had lay dormant and ignored for far too long was coming back to life with a vengeance.

Damn it, she felt like some sort of psycho. If she wasn't screaming at the man and wanting to slap the taste out of his mouth for being nasty and rude, she was lusting after him…she was supposed to be a fucking professional!

She absently moved her hands off his back and reached down to his right ankle, working slowly to his calf and then to his knee where she let both hands grasp his thigh. She slid her palms up along his hamstring, kneading the skin towards the heart to aid in circulation. She was completely lost in the moment when her fingers barely moved beneath the towel, touching a bit higher on the inside of his leg. Suddenly Tommy's entire huge frame tensed and seconds later he vaulted up and off the table.

The abrupt movement had Michelle reeling in shock. She froze with her hands in the air and her eyes nearly bugged out of her head as she got a _good_ look at him from the back with nothing on before he whirled around to face her, one hand holding the towel from the table over his crotch. She tried not to stare at the way his wide palm barely was able to conceal the considerable bulge, oh God, he was _huge_. He was huge and she just stared at his ass, and she was still staring…and that towel did not cover very much…

But it was his face that finally caught her attention. The pewter gray eyes were dark and raging with fury and his jaw was clenched tight as his chest heaved in irritated huffs. He pointed at her with his free hand, "What the _fuck_ do you think you are doin'?"

She was awestruck and completely speechless, "I…I…have no idea what you are talking about."

It took her a moment but suddenly she noticed a faint blush on his cheeks and it all became clear. It was common for men to experience arousal during a massage…and occasionally, release as well. There were several nerves buried in the thigh that were directly connected to the penis, and when touched it truly was a reflex, there was no build up, just the rubbing of the area and BAM instant orgasm. She wasn't really even close to it though, unless he was just more sensitive than most. Suddenly that little piece of knowledge about him made the entire situation even more awkward.

"I'm so sorry," Michelle finally stammered out. "It's completely normal for that to happen; you don't have to be embarrassed." She didn't know why she said it, and it sounded really stupid to her ears now that it's hanging between them, not to mention a little patronizing and insulting, and if she'd really thought about it she would have probably changed the way she phrased it.

His face went through a myriad of emotions, before that dark, angry look that she met out in the gym before came out and she could hear it dripping in his voice like venom. "So that's normal for you to do to a guy, huh? Some job you got there, honey."

She was mortified, and she could feel her face glowing red and the insult stung like he'd literally slapped her across the face. Anger wasn't far behind it, and she could feel her heart racing in her chest as she stared at him. "Excuse me?" She managed to grind out.

"I don't think I gotta repeat myself," Tommy snapped angrily, almost baiting her with innuendo.

"Who do you think you are?" Michelle asked, feeling her temper actually make her body shake. How dare he accuse her of something like that? It wasn't her fault he was biologically wired to lose his shit with just a touch.

"We done here?" He interrupted her with a snarl, his full, lush mouth curling into a grimace. "'Cause I know I finished."

She couldn't even move at first, as if the words didn't register. But when he moved to grab his clothes, and she was pretty sure the towel was getting dropped, she stormed out of the room into her office and then onto the floor of the gym not stopping until she practically ran into the ladies bathroom and locked the door behind her.

* * *

Michelle didn't even realize she was crying until she stared up into the mirror above the sink to see her reflection looking back at her. She looked sick; her pale skin was blotchy with red patches on her neck and her face caused by a combination of blush from her embarrassment and the huge spike in blood pressure. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and she knew it was those same emotions that had the big, fat tears rolling down her face. Who was this guy? She'd never, ever, _ever_ felt anything like this from anyone.

She was always in control, always calm; because that was the way she fought through the pain. It was what she had been doing every single day since she was a teenager, and she needed to find that again. There was a strange feeling deep down in the pit of her stomach that made her wonder if all this wasn't just the fault of that stupid, rude, asshole, fucking… most incredible, gorgeous looking man she'd ever seen in her pathetic love life, and instead maybe Tommy was just the catalyst to wake up everything that had been forced into dormancy by her own stubbornness.

After a few deep breaths she grabbed a paper towel and wet it to dab under her eyes, trying in vain to look like some semblance of the woman that Frank had hired. She was just going to walk out there and finish her work day like nothing had happened. And hopefully tomorrow he'd pretend like nothing at all had happened between them and they could go back to not really talking to one another. Really? That was her plan? Christ, she was pathetic.

At least she had dinner at Aimee's to look forward to, if anyone could set her straight and help her find her common sense it was her… hopefully.

* * *

**Yikes...poor girl  
**


	8. Chapter 8

**AN: So here we have two people digesting the same interesting situation…**

**I hope that you all enjoy.**

**I apologize for the slow updates…this is a crazy time for me at work…unfortunately I haven't figured out a way to get paid for this whole writing thing yet so that has to come first…unless someone wants to front the cash…then I am all for it man. Seriously. ; )**

**As always, please read and review! And thank you, thank you for all the attention this story has gotten! Please keep it up!**

**Letting this one out a little rough…'cause I just wanna let you have it…I'll fix it if I have to. And…eeek, sorry about the language…it's Tommy's head ; )**

* * *

Tommy sat in the Camry for a good half hour when he finally pulled into Brendan's driveway as he tried to rationalize the fucked up afternoon he'd just experienced. Meeting Campana and seeing his gym had gone well. The workout had been one of the better he'd had in a long time, he ran hard and pushed the weights around, he felt amazing- and then there had been whatever the hell happened with his physical therapist.

He really wasn't sure what had set his temper off at first, it was going decent; she had a pretty face, cute little mouth, a nice ass to stare at, when she talked she sounded like she knew her shit, and most importantly, she left him alone. Then, out of nowhere, like some sort of barking dog she was all over him about lifting a little weight. He hadn't even been listening to the words that were coming out of her mouth; the only thing that caught his attention was when she said something about him being stupid. He was kinda embarrassed to say he talked to her with only a tad more respect than he'd talked to his brother that night on the beach at Sparta.

Tommy shook his head and took out another sugar-free peppermint candy to pop into his mouth; Linda probably would have had a field day with his attitude. He could already hear her reminding him with that raised eyebrow of hers that, "communication was how people understood one another". And if he had felt upset with the way she had talked to him, he should have said so. He should have admitted like a little bitch that; "He didn't appreciate being called stupid, and that he had a lot of experience training and would like to discuss his course of therapy because he wasn't sure hers was effective".

And then there was whatever the fuck happened in the massage room.

He'd had his share of rub downs over the course of his athletic and Marine Corps career. Of course most of them were by huge dudes, and sure he'd even occasionally got a reflex boner- that shit happened no matter who was touching you- but he'd _never_ lost his shit on the table before.

That woman's hands _did_ something to him. It hurt like a fuckin' bastard when she'd been digging into his shoulder, but the way she relaxed her hands after that and rolled the muscle all the way down to his hips and back up to his neck made him almost curl his toes in pleasure.

So yeah, his hard-on wasn't a reflex, it was because she was getting to him. And then there was her mouth again, tellin' him that it was "normal" to be like that. It pissed him off on so many levels. Like he wasn't smart enough to understand that his dick was hard for a reason, and also, something he wasn't quite sure _why _it bothered him, that there were other guys at the gym that she touched and worked them up like this.

That was what had sent his temper to red line when her hands slid up his thigh. It was like nothing he'd ever felt in his life. There was no build up…just one minute he was hard and loving it and the next he was slapped upside the head with his orgasm and coming hard all over himself. He was so irritated and fucking embarrassed that he just wanted to bolt. So he jumped off the table, at the last minute remembering to cover his dick that was still standing up at attention with the towel she'd put on the table.

She was just standing there with her blue eyes wide open and her face and neck dusted pink with blush, like having her hands on him had been getting to her too. And then she'd said it- again. That it was "normal" for him to do that. He'd lost his mind. It wasn't fuckin' normal for him to blow his load on a massage table; the only thing that would have made it normal was if he was banging her on it and she was coming her brains out.

He'd definitely insulted her again like a dick, because she ran out of the room a minute later, and afterwards when he threw on his clothes and stormed out of the office she was nowhere to be seen. Tommy had managed to get his stuff together and find Frank Campana to tell him that he appreciated the time he'd spent with him, and that he'd be there first thing in the morning tomorrow.

He shook his head and stared out the window of the car, that was if Michelle didn't go running to Frank and tell him that he was an asshole. He really should apologize to her in the morning, no matter what the situation; because it was the right thing to do. It was what Linda and his_ Mother_ would have expected him to do.

Yeah, no big deal, he was sure she'd definitely be up for talking to him after today. He couldn't help but laugh at himself as he stared down at his pants; somehow he was still sporting an impressive bit of wood. Damn, he was definitely going to have to take a shower before dinner.

* * *

Tommy slinked into the front door and poked his head around, thankfully to find that both of his nieces where nowhere in sight. Which was a damn good thing; the situation in his track pants wasn't exactly something he wanted to explain to a five-year-old, and knowing Rosie if he didn't hug her immediately he'd have some explaining to do. Their disappearance wasn't all that unusual though. School was ending, and Tess usually had them running somewhere all hours of the day, only to be home just in time to throw together a dinner that should be on the cover of a magazine somewhere. He seriously wondered where the tiny woman got the energy to keep up with them 24/7 and still be a crazy good housewife.

He envied his brother that, and he kinda wondered what it would be like to have that sort of life. Go to work in the morning, get a steady paycheck and come home to someone who was happy to see him. He'd even make sure do his share of the cooking and housekeeping; he never had a problem with that stuff.

Then again, there was the entire issue that he had no idea how to do that. He was 31 years old and had never had a relationship with anyone long enough to bother moving in with them. And it wasn't like he had a catalogue of happy family memories to draw from either.

So, the girl was an issue. And the job, well, that was kind of an issue too. It wasn't like he had that many marketable skills. He'd been a decent student when he was young, mostly because it was required to stay on the wrestling team and to be admitted into the Junior Olympics. But that had changed when he left with his mother.

Tommy had worked as much as he could to help out, putting food on the table and trying to keep the lights on, and when she got sick…he averaged almost 40 hours a week at a local convenience store working the late shift by the time he was 18. He'd barely gotten out of high school, and that even had been by the grace of God. His gym teacher had caught him washing his clothes in the locker room one day after school because he couldn't afford the Laundromat, and he was pretty sure the "C-" average he received was because everyone felt bad for his pathetic ass. That was further reinforced because he told his guidance counselor all he wanted to do was enlist when he graduated.

So, again, school, not so much. Even the thought of going to college now turned his stomach. There was no way he was going to sit there like a chump with a bunch of 18 year-old kids that just had his brother as a teacher. No thank you.

He had been a diesel mechanic in the Corps, and he was damn proficient at it too…but that was one of those school things. He'd have to get certified or something. It wasn't a bad plan, though.

But in truth, the only thing that he was without a doubt "good" at was training. It was what he _did_, what he had done from the time he was five years old.

Well that and fighting, but Tommy wasn't a fool. He knew he was already on the bad side of 30, and it really would be a pain in the ass to compete in a few years with kids ten years younger than him with a lot less miles on their bodies. And quite frankly, he'd been watching the news and reading the sports section when he was sitting in the brig last summer waiting for the Court Marshal-getting punched in the head wasn't exactly the best way to make a living if you didn't want to end up a vegetable at 50. A self deprecating smirk fell across his lips; he wasn't exactly the brightest bulb on the strand as it was.

Maybe if he kept up the training with Frank he could talk to him about getting into something like that. Training fighters, yeah he could do that.

And he could have a nice little office right next to the cute brunette with the great body and the magic hands…who he was pretty sure wanted to run him over with a car.

Sure, Conlon, great fucking plan.

He shook his head as he dumped his bag in his bedroom and then crossed the hall to the guest bathroom where he stripped out of his gym clothes, ignoring the fact that he was pretty sure his stomach was still covered in dry come after his little table action. But thankfully his cock had managed to calm down. He turned the shower on scalding hot, a leftover habit from not always having the luxury, and climbed in, purposely keeping his mind on life plans and far, far away from Michelle and her hands.

* * *

Michelle sat in the bathroom for a good half hour talking to herself in the mirror before she was composed enough to walk back to her office like nothing was wrong. She cleaned up the mess in the massage room, studiously ignoring the insanely delicious smell of generic male deodorant and pure testosterone and adrenaline saturated sweat that hung in the air. Damn it, he even smelled good after a nasty workout. What in the hell did he smell like fresh out of the shower? Or when he was getting hot between the sheets? Ugh. That needed to stop.

She was just wiping down the bed when a knock on the door frame drew her attention to Frank's fit form. "Hey, what's up?" She breathed as she banished any thoughts of an inappropriate nature.

"Tommy Conlon just left a little while ago, said he had a really good workout." He explained as he crossed his arms, leaning comfortably against the wall. "How'd he do?"

Michelle smiled, "He did well; the guy is built like a brick house. Um, I was able to do a bit of friction grind on that shoulder to free it up." She wasn't lying, she just conveniently left out the part that they both wanted to stab one another with a rusty nail by the end of the afternoon, and oh, yeah, she'd made him come - by accident. And what was worse, she was _completely_ turned on by having her hands all over him.

"Things looked a little tense between you when he was at the bench." Frank pressed in a tone that revealed absolutely nothing about what he was thinking.

Busted. She took a deep breath and kept her eyes on his, "Yeah he went harder than I wanted him to."

"That's going to be a problem. You can't have a client telling you how to do your job." He added. "Tommy can't listen he can't train here, end of story."

Michelle stopped what she was doing and crossed her arms, for the first time understanding a little of what her brother had been talking about. If she was going to be a successful physical therapist, she was going to have to remember what it was like to be an athlete. The type of discipline it took to get to the top. It was that mindset that finally clicked. "Well, it's not all Tommy's fault. It's obvious by looking at the guy that he knows how to get in shape and train. I mean he had that body at Sparta all by himself, with no sponsors, and he was close to takin' out _your_ boy. _I_ should have asked _him_ for a little input on what he usually did and build a plan from that. It's what I had planned to do first thing tomorrow."

For the first time since she'd worked for him, Frank seemed genuinely surprised. "Wow, Mich; that is what I was talking about. Respect is mutual. But I want you to know that mutual also means that Tommy doesn't tell you what to do, you got me? I want your honest opinion tomorrow afternoon, and if he can't fall in line, he's done."

"Got it," She answered with a nod. "Thanks, Frank."

He patted the wall and pushed off, "No problem sista, oh, and before I forget, good call on Marco's pivoting weakness in his knee. He'll be doin ' a lot more of those after our session today, his words not mine. So that's two breakthroughs today."

"Thanks again," She smiled with genuine happiness.

Perhaps, finally, she was starting to get this. Now she just had to hope she could get close enough to Tommy to say her peace and apologize tomorrow without him taking her head off.

Not friggin' likely.

* * *

Michelle stood in her bathroom blow drying her hair and staring into the mirror. She was supposed to be at Aimee's in a little while for dinner, and she was really looking forward to it. Not just for the fact that the food would be amazing, but it would definitely be a chance for her to unwind that she hadn't had in a little while.

She dressed simply, just a pain of faded blue jeans, a while v-neck t-shirt and her Nike's. She didn't even bother to wear any make up more than mascara, liner and a clear gloss for her lips. Her long brown hair was neatly thrown up into a pony tail, and she walked out of her apartment with a bounce in her step. The nights were already starting to get warmer, but May is a fickle month, so she snatched a thin black hoodie at the door. It was still another week or so until Memorial Day, but the days were already in the seventies, and the nights were upper fifties…summer was on the way.

Aimee and Tara lived about fifteen minutes away, back in the direction of the center of the city. Michelle made sure to stop by the liquor store on the way, picking up a small bottle of Bacardi and diet Coke. It wasn't the best thing in the world to drink, but it was only going to be her and Tara drinking it, and after the cheesesteak she'd wolfed down last night she needed something that was relatively low calorie. Because after today- she needed a damn drink no matter what it was.

The two girls lived on the third floor in a cute, modern apartment. She walked up the stairs and balanced her bags and her pocketbook on her arm as she knocked on the door. There was a distinct sound of heavy steps moving towards her, and a moment later Aimee opened the door with a smile.

"'Sup girl, glad you could make it." She said as she gestured for her to walk it. "I'm ready to chew my arm off I am so hungry. Bitch banned from the kitchen."

Michelle laughed and stared at her friend, she looked ridiculously fit in a black tank and black yoga pants that showed off her muscular physique that was so solid but still managed to be feminine at the same time. It was funny; Aimee didn't take any shit in the gym, but she was definitely still a girl.

"I banned you from the kitchen because you bug the shit out of me and you eat half of it," Tara yelled across the apartment from the small open kitchen, her brown eyes landing on them with a smile, "Hey, Mich!"

Michelle smiled back as she approached the breakfast bar to dump off her bags, leaning across to meet the pretty blonde's cheek in a quick kiss, "Hey, lady, long time no see."

"Same to you," Tara answered as she reached in to pull out the Bacardi and the soda. If Aimee was a poster child for "fitness girl", her girlfriend would be the same for "hot blonde". Tara had a ridiculous figure; she was tall, 5'11'', with long legs, a teeny-tiny waist and a great pair of boobs. She was absolutely gorgeous, and after four years she was absolutely head-over-heels for Aimee.

Michelle sniffed appreciatively as she caught the scent of salmon cooking with some sort of orangey, mapley marinade. "Smells awesome," She said as she saddled up to one of the stools at the breakfast bar.

"It's my own creation," She smirked as she grabbed three glasses, pouring two very generous rum and cokes- and one soda water, floating a slice of lime in each. She handed Aimee the water with a smile, "Here you go baby, don't get all drunk on me now."

"Thanks," She answered with a roll of her eyes.

It was Frank's golden rule- well, definitely one of his top ten golden rules- no drinking while training. But thankfully that did not apply to her. Michelle picked up her drink and downed almost half of it in one mouthful, sighing pleasantly as the fizzy burn slid down her throat.

"Damn," Aimee said as she watched her with a smile, "I didn't think it was that tough a day."

Michelle chuckled under her breath, "Oh, it was."

"She's doing PT with your boyfriend," Aimee sarcastically said in Tara's direction.

Tara's eyes rolled playfully as she smiled and actually blushed a little as she met Michelle's eyes, "Tommy Riordan? Oh, wait that's not his name…"

"Conlon," She supplied finishing the rest of her drink in one big swallow.

"Please tell me he's still covered in all those muscles," Tara sighed dramatically.

This was not the conversation she wanted to be having to get her mind off of what happened today. "Um, he's really built," She settled on mumbling as she poured herself another drink.

Aimee chuckled, "Yeah, babe, he's fucking nasty hot, don't let this one over here fool you. TV did not do that boy justice."

Tara stared at Michelle for a moment, her eyes moving over her in an interesting little stare, before she smirked and looked back at her girlfriend, "I think little Mich has a crush."

She could feel her face and her ears glowing bright red with blush and she quickly stuttered out a reply, "Um, no, I don't, he's my client. I have to work with him." She avoided their eyes for a moment as she stared down at her drink, a strange feeling of curiosity rolled through her and she had to know what they were thinking. "What makes you say that, anyway, I didn't say anything?"

Aimee snorted and grabbed plates and silverware to lay out on the bar, "It ain't hard chicky, you got two girls who don't like dick ready to hop on the dude and take him for a hard ride, and you say 'um he's okay'. That's kind of a dead giveaway that something is goin' on."

Michelle laughed at her words as she bit her lip, "I'm not saying the guy isn't material to think about during a few minutes alone. But, I mean, his attitude is awful. He's stubborn, opinionated, rude, chauvinistic…"

"Alright, girl," Aimee said as she put down her drink loudly and stared at her with a sharp stare. "We've known each other for like six months now, and I really, really like you a lot, but will you give that shit a rest already."

"What shit?!" She asked taken back by her friend's tone.

"That fuckin' 'anyone who doesn't listen to me it's because I'm a girl' bullshit, it's annoying."

Michelle could feel her face blushing red with irritation; she wasn't expecting this at all. "Well, what should I think? You have no…"

"I have no, what?" She said, her voice was calm, but her eyes were still focused. "No idea what it is like to step in a ring with a man and know that no matter what my record is, and how many of them I fuckin' lay out over and over again, that they don't look at me as something less? That they don't have to make a whole different league for me to fight in 'cause I'm a girl? And worse yet, I'm the stereotypical lezbo athletic girl. So, uh, yeah I know what it's like to feel like shit because of someone else, been feelin' it all my life. You ever see me make an excuse for it?"

"No," Michelle said quietly, her words hitting her hard.

Aimee reached across the bar to pat her on the shoulder, a sly grin pulling across her face as she spoke, "If people don't like me it's 'cause they don't like me and they are dicks, or I'm bein' a fuckin' miserable bitch and I deserve it, but either way I am who I am. It ain't 'cause I'm a girl, got it? And _you_ are a sick PT or Campana wouldn't have hired you, so there you go. If Tommy is giving you shit, work it out and figure it out. "

She laughed at her, "Yeah, I got it, Rossta, thanks man. So, what am I supposed to do when Marco stares at my tits every morning?"

"Shake them in his face," Tara answered absently as she turned around to pull the salmon out of the oven.

Aimee frowned, "Santos? Tell 'em to fuck off, stop starin' at your tits and pay attention before another school teacher takes his spot in the ring." She paused for a second as Tara started filling their plates with steaming brown rice, vibrant asparagus and a big serving of fish, "Now if _Tommy_ starts starin' at your tits, tell him to go ahead and cop a feel."

Her face was bright red as she covered it with her hands, "Oh, my, God. Can you please stop that, I swear if you embarrass me at the gym, I will kill you."

"Embarrass you," She repeated with a sigh as the three of them sat down to an incredible meal, "Like I'd do that to you. I'm your friend. I just gave you good advice, geez."

Michelle narrowed her eyes as she took a bite, "I mean it."

"I promise, damn."

She laughed as she sipped on her drink feeling like a completely different than she did a few hours ago. It was a strange feeling, but one she totally welcomed. She was ready to walk into 'Soul of a Lion' tomorrow with a completely different mindset. It wouldn't be easy, but then again…had it ever been in her life?

* * *

**Oooh, and they are both in the mood to talk tomorrow…this should be interesting…**


	9. Chapter 9

**AN: Hey! I did not forget about this one…see! Muse is always thinking…always…**

**So, thanks for sticking with. Hopefully you enjoy this and it was worth the wait…it is chock full of the thoughts I think would definitely be going on.**

**Need I remind that reviews are inspiration? And inspiration feeds that dirty wench ; ) Thanks!**

* * *

As fate would have it, because she had something on her mind, and something to do, Michelle was late the next morning coming to the gym. She turned off her alarm instead of snoozing it, and when she finally flew out the door, there was bumper to bumper traffic the entire way.

She called Frank and let him know she was going to be late, and she was probably going to have to shuffle Santos' appointment. He told her not to worry about it, and that he knew what he had to do by now. She thanked him and said she'd catch up with him later in the day to talk about Marco's workout.

It could have been worse. She finally pulled into the parking lot a little after eight, and hated the fact that she had forgone a coffee in favor of getting there a little bit quicker. There was something about being late and walking in with coffee or breakfast that always looked disrespectful to her. It was definitely something that had been drilled into her head from her father at an early age.

But unfortunately, that put her in her office, completely disheveled and disoriented and with no caffeine to help the situation. She looked down at her schedule and realized that any minute now Tommy Conlon would be walking into the gym, and she was going to have to find a way to work through her incredibly muddled mind to have an overdue conversation with him.

A conversation that she was really embarrassed to admit that she'd practiced in her bathroom mirror last night after she got back from Aimee and Tara's. She thought of every possible way he could reply, from not saying anything, to being as nasty as he was the other day...to being nice to her.

And, okay, she was _really_ embarrassed to admit that the couple of rum and cokes that were in her body also had her imagining him storming into her office and demanding that if she wanted an apology it was only fair that he made her come on the massage table the same way she had done to him.

That particular little fantasy had taken her everything that she had not to take it back to the bedroom. Not that she had an issue finding a little release, but when she did it, she was careful to always keep her images neutral or of someone that was never sharing her bed.

There was no way she wanted to close her eyes and see that insanely muscled and beautifully inked body moving on top of her, or imagine that husking, raspy voice low in her ear as it growled and groaned...ugh, that did it.

She took a deep breath, praying for a nice, simple conversation, honestly that was all she could handle this morning.

* * *

Tommy stood in a huge line at a coffee shop down the street from Frank's gym, and as he jammed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, he honestly couldn't actually explain what the hell he was doing here. But it had been the first thing that he'd thought of when he tried to figure out a way to walk into Michelle's office and apologize to her.

Coffee was a good start, he figured. That was always what everyone always did to him when they wanted to have a talk with him that he wasn't too keen on having. Well, mostly Brendan and Pop, but those were about the only people he talked to recently anyways who pissed him off.

He smirked at that thought, it was kinda pathetic. His life consisted of his father, who he avoided talking to as much as possible, his brother, who he sort of liked talking to every day, his sister-in-law, who talked so fast she kind talked _at_ him, and his nieces...who he really had no idea _what_ they were talking about half the time. At least they were cute as hell.

When he finally got to the counter he settled on just getting her a medium coffee with cream and sugar. He had to fight the urge to drool all over the counter at the sight of one of the maple bars in the display cabinet. Damn, it had been a long time since he'd had something like that.

It was funny, ever since he was a kid and Pop had been such a Nazi about his diet, he'd never really stopped it. Sure he'd indulged in the Corps, but that was more calories from alcohol than he'd let be from sugar. Aside from every once in a while Pilar would make something fried with cinnamon and sugar that he couldn't pass up...but that was few and far between.

After his coffee was paid for he walked back to his car and frowned suddenly as he felt the hot liquid moving inside the Styrofoam takeout cup. He was going to hand her a scalding hot cup of coffee before he apologized to her for being a complete asshole. He'd better do it right, or she'd probably throw the fucking thing right back in his face.

Shit, brilliant fucking idea...better not screw this up, Conlon.

* * *

Michelle was trying to get her day in order, and failing miserably when a knock at the door had her snapping her head up to see the one person she needed a ten minute lead time before she even thought to deal with.

Tommy was standing there in a worn black hoodie and a pair of grey sweatpants that she could already tell were going to be far too thin when he was working out later.

"Hey," She said quietly, hating the fact that she'd run out the door this morning for the second day in a row with wet hair that got thrown into a bun and she had almost zero make up on. "You wanna come in for a sec?"

Tommy nodded and hunched into the room with a slow walk, and it took her a second to notice the cup in his hand. She rose her eyebrow in interest, and was going to ask what it was for when he cleared his throat, "I, uh, gotcha coffee."

"Thanks," Michelle said as she reached out for it. "I was actually really late this morning and pressed 'off' on my alarm instead of 'snooze', so there was no way I was walking in here late with a coffee." She trailed off realizing that she sounded like an idiot and he really didn't need a play by play of her morning routine. "So, thanks for this."

She was quiet for a moment and watched with rapt interest as he reached into his sweater to pull out a peppermint candy. She watched him pop it into his mouth with a strange bit of fascination. Suddenly she remembered that she wasn't supposed to be staring at his full, lush lips, or the way his tongue moved the candy around in his mouth. She was supposed to be talking to him.

She took a deep breath and cleared her throat, "Tommy, I um, I wanted to apologize for what happened yesterday."

His face scrunched up with a puzzled glance and he shrugged, "You don't need to apologize. You didn't do nothin' wrong. I acted like an asshole, and I shoulda never talked to you like that. You were doin' your job."

Okay, so this was definitely one of the better outcomes she had planned for. She relaxed a bit at his gentler tone, but the cagey look that was always just behind his gray eyes kept her still a little wary. "Well thanks, Tommy. But, I really should have talked to you about what you wanted to do to get yourself back in shape. I mean, look at you, it's obvious you know how to get a great body."

Her face was blood red at her stupidity, and she couldn't believe that came out of her mouth. "I mean you look, great, so um, you know what you are doing, and I should have asked you for your input, I'm sorry about that."

Tommy looked at her for a beat, as if trying to think of the right thing to say. But he finally settled on just shrugging his massive shoulders, "I've been doin' it a long time. I only know what works for me."

Michelle picked up her clipboard and ignored the way he sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk with his legs spread wide open in a ridiculously masculine display, that was probably done completely unconsciously.

"Okay, so how did you feel after you left yesterday?"

She cringed again internally at her question. How did he feel after he left the gym after you gave him a surprise happy ending during his massage? Probably freaking great.

She could have sworn the tips of his ears were red as he answered. "After the workout I felt real good. Best I've been in a while."

That was it. Her blue eyes darted up for a moment to see that his ears were definitely red, and his mouth was pulled up into a grimaced smirk. Apparently she wasn't the own one that was putting her foot in her mouth this morning.

"So what about this morning?" Michelle instantly tried to redirect the conversation as she absently chewed on the cap of her pen.

Tommy frowned as he rotated the joint, "I'm usually a little tight in the morning. I think if I did fast reps like yesterday with that little weight, it loosens it up to take a harder workout."

She nodded, "That makes sense, and I guess we can try it. I, um, I'd just really like it if you backed off the really heavy free weights for a while. I can see bench pressing 150 pounds, don't think you need to max out just yet."

"Probably right," Tommy smirked, "Got a little amped yesterday, first day back at the gym and all."

She couldn't help but laugh at his somewhat attempt to make a joke, "Well, I'll let you get to it. Um, if you need anything let me know, and whenever you are ready for your rub down...um, for therapy let me know."

He nodded and turned to walk out, and she inelegantly gasped out a repeat, "Thank you for the coffee!"

"Sure," He mumbled as he walked out and into the gym.

* * *

It went better than he thought it would. Tommy couldn't help but smile at himself as he pumped the weights at the bench, savoring the way his muscles ached and burned in a practiced rhythm. Michelle had been a lot more willing to talk than he thought she would be.

Actually between her apology, that was about as lame as his was, and the way her face kept getting red, 'cause she was obviously thinking about the fact that she'd made him come all over himself, he'd actually liked talking to her. And he woulda been slick enough to really enjoy the fact that she was blushing, if he hadn't been so backed up from the lack of sex in his life, that it suddenly became all _he_ could think about.

Along with fucked up ideas like the fact that she was really soft looking, and he wondered just how long her tied up hair was. Like it was it long enough to grab a good fist of from behind? Or maybe if he was lying down and she was going down low...ah, fucking thin sweatpants.

The weights clanked loudly as Tommy sat up to try to calm his body down. He breathed deep, just in time to see her bending over to help another fighter on the mats, she was checking the resistance bands or something. But damn, if her little ass wasn't staring at him from across the room like it was wavin' at his cock.

"You know, it's normal to hide the fact your starin' at a chick's ass like you wanna take a bite when you are in public."

He jerked his head up to see the girl fighter he'd met yesterday, smirking at him as she loaded up a bar to do some curls. At the last minute he remembered her name, it was Aimee...or something like that.

"Don't know what you are talkin' about." Tommy grunted as he finally felt himself deflate a little.

She rolled her eyes and took a sip out of her water bottle, "I'm talkin' about you starin' at my girl's ass over there like you wanna roll up behind her and climb on. I don't blame you, if Mich went my way I'da gone after her hardcore."

He laughed and stared at the brunette with an incredulous stare. Damn, the girl had a mouth on her, and apparently liked females. She was kinda cute too, hard body, bet the two of them would look really nice..._fuck._ So much for keeping the tent down.

"Yeah, well, lookin' ain't exactly a crime."

"No," She shrugged, "But she's a cool chick though, just so you know."

Tommy covertly reached down to try to attend to the screaming pressure between his legs. He had to stop looking at her or there was no way he was going to be able to have her touch him later without the same reaction as last time. So he was stuck making conversation in an attempt to stay in control.

"So, uh, you are doin' UFC Frank said?"

Aimee nodded, "Yup. Got a fight in a week or so."

Tommy frowned, "Shouldn't you be sparring?"

"I should be, but my ground coach is out sick for like the third day in a row. So I'm stuck liftin' and shit, 'cause Campana doesn't have time to jump off Santos and help me."

"You need a wrestling coach?"

She looked at him with a smirk, "Why _you_ good at it? Last time I checked tape, ground and pound and a one shot wonder was your bit, not so much on the mat."

Tommy could feel his hackles rise up instantly at her comment, but instead of snapping back at her, he waited a moment and caught the slight gleam of a smart ass smile in her dark brown eyes. He had to laugh at himself, it was like being reintroduced to an old friend. Him and Manny used to bust each other's balls unmercifully, and it had been a long ass time since he'd even been able to laugh.

"Yeah, yeah." He scoffed. "That's 'cause I was fighting with my head up my ass all Sparta, surprised you didn't notice."

Aimee laughed, "Oh I woulda noticed that."

He shook his head, "I'll have you know I won six straight Junior Olympic titles for wrestling and was Pennsylvania state champ when I was fourteen. Not one point scored on me."

"Damn," She said with an impressed nod. "So what, didn't keep it up?"

"No." Tommy answered coldly. Hating that he still flipped from normal to asshole in a second. "Family shit got in the way."

She didn't press any further, and there was a look in her eyes that gave him a strange sense of pause; like he didn't have to explain that stuff because she completely understood.

"So, if you are serious about that offer, I'm all over it." Aimee said casually. "We probably gotta talk to Frank about it, but, judgin' by the way that you beat ass in Sparta, and the fact that Christian's lazy ass is less than dependable, can't hurt me."

Tommy shrugged, "That's cool, I guess, I ain't doing much right now anyway 'till my shoulder loosens up. But I just wanna let you know I'm an asshole training. My Pops was when he taught me, and that's all I know. So, if you can't take it, no big deal, but, uh, I ain't changing."

She smirked as she tossed her water bottle on the ground and leaned in to Tommy's ear with a smirk as she eyed the weights. "Sounds fine to me Conlon, assholes I can take just fine. And by the way, I may have a pussy, but uh, let's just say you wouldn't know I'm the only one the way some of these bitches whine around here."

He laughed out loud at her remark, and the husky bark actually sounded foreign to his ears, like it had been a really long time since he'd done it…and his body was actually a little rusty. "I hear ya," He mused with a smile.

"You can go back to mentally bangin' my friend from the back now," Aimee said in a huff as she dead lifted the bar and began to curl it in swift reps.

Tommy shook his head as he laid back down to grip his own weight, actually liking the fact that this was the most conversation he'd had with another person that didn't have anything to do with therapy or family shit in a long ass time. "You got no idea what I'm thinkin' about so zip it."

"Sure I don't," She wagged her tongue at him in a suggestive manner.

"Damn, dude, you are worse than a guy."

"Yup."

* * *

The rest of his day went pretty easy, and Tommy got the info from Aimee that Frank had to "think about it overnight". Which he'd be willing to bet meant that he was going to call Brendan and talk to him about it. And his brother was going to have some sort of poorly disguised conversation with him at dinner that he just wished he'd come out and say what he was thinking…but that wouldn't be Brendan if he did.

Because Brendan was just like Mom, he always wanted to make sure he wasn't hurting anyone's feelings.

He could kinda hear it now.

"_So, Tom, you remember when Pop used to coach you…"_

But at least the run and the talk he'd had earlier left him nice and chill when he found Michelle in her office later and let her know that he was ready for his rub down.

He was actually kinda proud of himself, because he actually was able to get undressed, get under the towel, and last a whole five minutes with her hands on him before he was hard as a fucking rock again.

And this time she stayed far away from his inner thigh, and instead paid way more attention to his hips and his neck and arms. Tommy had to bite down on his cheek more than once to stop a noise that sounded pathetically like a combination of a whimper and a purring moan. But damn, she was good.

Even when she was really digging into his shoulder, which still hurt like a fucking bitch, she was sure to soothe it right afterwards with those long, slow strokes that he really liked that ran the length of his back.

He was just getting ready to doze into la la land with a great boner, when her voice spoke up in a really strange tone that he was willing to bet had a lot to do with what was going on.

"Okay, Tommy, if you want to roll carefully, I'll work on the front now."

Every muscle in his body tensed. Yeah, this is just what he needed, her looking at him tenting the towel, and what the fuck was supposed to happen when she started touching him?

He cleared his throat, "Uh, okay."

He bit down on the inside of his cheek and tried to think of something, anything that would calm him down. But when he finally was situated, lying back, belly up and completely vulnerable with an unmistakable bulge in the towel over his crotch that couldn't be mistaken for anything, _but_ what it was- he looked at her face, and it was all over.

Her pupils were blown wide, leaving just a small ring of blue, and her lips were plumped, like she'd been chewing on them to stop thinking about what was happening, just like he was. And the tops of her cheeks were dusted bright red.

Oh, shit, this was getting to her too.

* * *

Michelle's body was in an all out revolt. They hadn't gotten this far yesterday, thanks to the incident, and seeing the front of him, lying supine and bared up to her was _way_ more than she was able to deal with.

Thankfully he closed his eyes, and gave her a little reprieve. She shook her head hard as she tried to get in control of her trembling hands. This had never happened to her before, like – ever, and she'd rubbed down her share of good looking men. But there was just something about Tommy Conlon, and his ridiculous twelve pack abs, that had her feeling like a teenage girl.

The tattoos didn't help. The oil shined them up and made them stand out even more against his pale skin…and then there was that one…the lower one…the gothic letters down by his hip…right by the towel. She actually shivered as her eyes went down to read the words, and lingered there for a moment as her peripheral vision saw_ it_.

It was probably because she had a great view of it in his hand the day before, so she could already judge the fact that his somewhat average height did not translate to this particular appendage's size. It was kind of really cliché, but she'd be lying if she said she didn't check out the people on her table from time to time.

She was a human female after all, and there was some part of her, somewhere, that responded to the sight of a healthy male of mating age. That just made biological sense.

But while Frank Campana's gym may have turned out champions in the ring, there really wasn't a lot to write home about on the male anatomical front. There were a few exceptions, notably the skinny kid Alberto, and Frank himself, who had an old back injury that she'd worked on a few times. They were impressive.

Tommy, though, it was the whole…for lack of a better word "package". Tattooed-sexy-as-hell bad boy, with those lips…there was no way she wasn't going home and spending a good amount of time in the shower thinking about him tonight. Screw it.

Thankfully her horn-ball thoughts had managed to take her through the rest of their time together. She actually smiled at the fact that she could do her job with her brain only partially engaged. She wasn't sure what it said about her, but, there it was.

"All done," She finally said in a quiet tone. "I'll give you a minute to get dressed, just leave everything where it is."

Tommy nodded but didn't open his eyes, and she didn't want to embarrass him by repeating herself, she knew he heard her, and why he was probably taking a second to move.

So trying to keep up the professionalism that had long ago deserted her in favor of behaving like a complete idiot, she left the room and closed the door behind her, returning to her office.

* * *

Tommy couldn't move- at all. He was still lying on the table in the same position that she left him in ten minutes later. He couldn't move, because if he did he was afraid of either it being extremely painful, or going off like a fucking fire hose.

He tried every trick in the book; counting back from 100, thinking about the ugliest person naked, every disgusting and unattractive thought that he could come up with to no avail. Instead, the first thought that came to mind was that his chest was covered in oil still…and he could slick up his palm pretty fast, it would only take one or two good pumps…_holy shit, fucking hell._

It hit him like a ton of bricks- _again_. But at least this time he was able to grab the towel and keep himself clean. He almost chewed through his lower lip to stay quiet as he felt it roll through his body with a wave. His cock pulsing hard in time with the racing beat of his heart as it pumped out his release.

His body relaxed immediately afterwards, and Tommy actually felt so dazed he wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep. It was about then that his brain was able to engage, since his dick was comatose. He pulled the dirty towel away from his body and quickly got up, throwing on his clothes and trying to ignore the voice in his head that told him he was a pathetic fucker for coming all over himself like a pre-teen boy looking at a lingerie catalogue.

And this one he couldn't even chalk up to an uncontrolled response.

This was due to of the fact that he hadn't gotten laid in _waaay _too long, and was probably making him think his physical therapist would be a good candidate for that job.

There really wasn't anything else that made sense; it wasn't like he knew her or anything.

He thankfully found the bin in the corner of the room filled with other dirty towels so he could throw his in there, because he was not leaving it on the table for her to deal with. For good measure he made sure to hide it a few down, there was no reason she needed to know about that.

Damn, he felt like a fucking perv.

The feeling got even worse when he walked out of the room and into her office to see her sitting there, hunched over her desk in a ridiculous position that definitely wasn't ergonomically sound. She was sitting on one foot, while the other one was flat on the chair, and her chin was propped up on that knee as she stared at her appointment calendar.

Tommy cocked his head to the side, for a moment, completely amazed that she could actually get into that position in a desk chair, and suddenly the ghosting feeling of his cock starting to twitch alerted him to the fact that his mind was already venturing into the realm of seeing what other positions she could twist into in tight spaces.

"I'm, uh, done." He said with a shrug as he stood at the door.

Michelle looked up with a dazed look for a minute before she cleared her throat, "Oh, thanks." She paused for a second and slid her upturned leg down to the ground before she smiled with a half smile that he could tell was very tentative. "I was watching you work today, you look really loose."

"I feel good," He answered as he rolled his shoulder. "I felt somethin' pop when you were diggin' in there, and now it feels real good."

She nodded, "Yeah, I felt that too, that was a pretty big adhesion that let go. It might be sore later tonight, so if it is, take some Advil or Motrin and throw a heating pad on there for a few minutes, or just take a nice hot shower. No ice, and um, if it is really sore tomorrow, let me know and we'll take a breather on the weights and stick to cardio…if that's okay."

"Sounds fine," He answered.

Her blue eyes darted up to meet his, and then back down to her desk. "Um, thanks for the coffee again, Tommy, I'll have to owe you one."

He could feel his ears get hot, at her casual offer. "Yeah, no problem, I don't really drink it, so save the few bucks for a rainy day."

"Well I'll owe you something else then," She said nonchalantly, looking at her desk and not up at him. "See you tomorrow."

"Yeah."

It was all he could manage to muster as his body already started to revolt again. This really was fucking pathetic. He either needed to punch something 'till he passed out or…

A flash of her small smile appeared behind his eyes and he realized he'd settle for spending a long night in the shower. After all she'd told him to for relaxation purposes…and she was going to definitely be therapy to him in more ways than one tonight.

He frowned as he walked through the gym and out to his car, damn this all better just be something that could be wanked out with a good marathon session; because the last thing he needed right now was to have a woman fucking with his head.

Or maybe that's exactly what he needed…ah, _shit_, this had better go away before he got home.


	10. Chapter 10

**AN: So here we are at the end of 2013. I give you one last present before the year ends ; ).**

**For New Year's this one is a little NSFW...but light in my world.**

**I hope you all have a wonderful night and a great start to 2014.**

**Letting this out rough...cause I have plans and have to get going! Please read and review! Thanks and I love you all!**

* * *

Tommy made it home before dinner as usual. Tess was standing in the kitchen marinating three huge, thick steaks in some sort of marinade that smelled like heaven. She had a few potatoes that she was washing and a couple little chicken breasts set aside for the girls, and there was a shit ton of fresh spinach drying in a colander in the sink.

"Hey, Tommy," She breathed quickly as she looked out the window to keep her eye on Emily and Rosie who were busy playing in the backyard. "How was the gym?"

"Good," He answered as he walked to the fridge to grab the pitcher of filtered water and a glass out of the cupboard. He quickly guzzled down one large glass and then poured another half that he sipped at as he put the water back in the refrigerator. "That smells really good."

"Oh, thanks, it's just some recipe I found the other day in one of the healthy living magazines when I was standing in line at the grocery store. It's balsamic vinegar, a little garlic, rosemary, and black pepper."

Tommy nodded as he rubbed his stomach, "Lookin' forward to it, I'm starving."

Tess smirked, "When aren't you Conlon men hungry? Oh, before I forget, I made you some homemade granola bars, they are supposed to be really good for a midday workout snack. Dates, peanut butter, honey, almonds and oats. If you don't like them no biggie, but, I figured you are there all day long and those disgusting Powerbars are no good for you and taste like sawdust."

She rambled the entire thing off at a lightening pace, and he must have had that deer in a headlight look because she smirked, and settled for opening up the Tupperware and handing him a small piece with a smile. "Here, dinner won't be ready for another hour or so if you want to go upstairs and take a shower."

He stared at the soft, chewy bite in his hand for a minute, and honestly he didn't really know what to say to her. Tess was like no other woman he'd ever met before. Some days she was sweet as pie and other days she was a miserable bitch, for lack of a better way of putting it. She didn't take any of his brother's shit at all, and then in the same breath, she'd turn around and wait on him hand and foot.

She walked around like a primped princess, and still scrubbed the house on her hands and knees, and made sure that her little girls had no shadow of a doubt that they were loved more than anything. He remembered her at Sparta too. Standing near her husband like a rabid badger or some shit when the MP's tried to pull him out of Brendan's arms. There was no doubt that if stuff would have gone down, Tess would have had his back without a second thought.

Tommy _envied_ his brother that. He wanted to have something like that when he came home from work. It sounded dumb as shit, but he wanted a damn smile, a kiss and his own woman to make him granola bars. He took an absent bite as he stared at it. It was really fucking good too.

A painful twinge weighed on his chest. That was why his brother had stayed behind when him and Ma left. He didn't understand what it felt like to be in love like that with someone, any more than a fuckin' dog knew what it felt like to read the bible, but he knew that a woman like that, like Tess, when she grabbed you, you couldn't let go if you wanted to.

"It's really good." He mumbled, "Thanks. I'm gonna take a shower."

"Sounds good, dinner will be on the table at six."

* * *

He was still sucking the peanut butter flavor out of his mouth as he walked into the upstairs bathroom and stripped off his clothes. He leaned in to turn on the shower and his shoulder suddenly ached with a sharp pain that turned into a dull throb that had him groaning and leaning against the wall for a second.

Shit. It fucking hurt.

Tommy took a deep breath through his teeth as he stood up and went to the medicine cabinet to pick out a bottle of Advil. He steadfastly ignored the two-year-old bottle of generic Oxycodone that had been prescribed to Tess. That would definitely help with the physical pain, but it would fuck him up on a level that he was not willing to deal with again.

He'd done that shit after he went AWOL. Because there was nothing, nothing that made it all go away like a bottle of Jameson and some narcotics. You name it, it worked, Oxycontin, Percocet, Vicodin, it also had an unintended consequence, he was one of the people who discovered that when he fell asleep...pain meds gave him horrific nightmares. Vivid panic inducing hysterical hallucinations that would scare anyone.

It was why Pop had found three full bottles on him the day he asked him to train him for Sparta. He didn't take them that often, but he liked the security of having them in his pocket. Just like a sidearm, you didn't plan on using it, but if you needed to it was right there.

He shook out two of the brownish tabs and drank out of the sink quickly, before he turned on the tub faucet to as hot as he could handle it, hoping that the massage and the heat would do enough to relax him.

A wry smile quirked his lip as he climbed in and let the water hit him, Michelle's hands would feel incredible right now. And just like that his body was thrumming to life again.

He wondered if she did house calls.

Yeah, that would be a call he'd love to make. He'd fucking love to be stretched out on a nice soft bed, and he'd be naked, and she'd be straddling him instead of standing beside him. And she'd probably be naked too...her hair down...and he'd let her take all the time she wanted.

Tommy leaned forward to let his forehead rest against the wall as the hot water battered his back in a steady massage. He absently reached around to get a bottle of something, that turned out to be lavender scented conditioner, whatever, it was the lubrication quality that was all he cared about.

His eyes slid closed and it didn't take him very long to harden when he started thinking about what it would feel like to have her hands rolling up his back. Then his imagination took hold as his palm circled the flesh and gave it a long, slow tug from base to tip.

She'd be perched right over his ass, and he knew she was tall enough to reach him with no problem, but when she moved up his back, he imagined the feeling of warm wetness that would rub off on him as her crotch slid across his skin. He bit back a groan at the thought that she'd be giving herself a little something as she was working on him.

His hand moved faster as he saw himself rolling over so she could rub all that smooth honey all over him. He had an easier time picturing what she'd look like naked than he thought. Those tight shirts and fucking pants she wore at the gym let him know that she had curves that would look insanely good when she was wearing nothing but a smile.

He knew she had soft, perky tits, just bigger than a handful...and one of his hands would be there, and the other one would be on her ass...definitely more than a handful there. And he'd give her something real nice and hard to sit that hot, sweet, pu-

A knock on the door instantly had him snapping his head up, "Tom? You in the shower?"

Fucking, Brendan, _really_?! Some of us don't have a hot wife to fuck every night.

"Yeah I'll be out in a minute."

"Okay, dinner will be on the table in ten."

Tommy rolled his eyes, not bothering to reply as he redoubled his efforts. Fuck fantasy, he was aching right now and just needed to let it all go. He caught a fast rhythm and it wasn't more than a few minutes later that he felt that tingle radiating out from the base of his spine as it licked down and centered in his balls for the barest second before he got harder than steel and finally he broke. Hissing under his breath as he licked his lips and slowed down for a few, extra gentle pumps, watching the evidence of his orgasm swirl down the drain.

He shivered for a minute in the hot water, reaching to grab his body wash against the wall so he could actually clean himself and wash up. It was funny, the minute he closed his eyes he could still see his fantasy image of her. Hot and naked and soft...with those strong slender hands.

Fucking _great_. Now he was really never going to be able to handle being in that room with her. Maybe he really should get sparring with that chick, a good punch or two to the head should set him just stupid enough to handle it.

* * *

Tommy walked downstairs a few minutes later in a fresh pair of track pants and a plain white t-shirt. He almost made it to the threshold of the kitchen before he was nearly bowled over with a leaping head-full-of-curls Rosie. He couldn't help but smile as she twined her legs around his waist and his neck, taking no time at all before she just went in for a kiss on the lips.

"Hi Uncle Tommy!" She beamed as she rested her small head on his shoulder. "I missed you today."

"You did?" He answered as he walked over to his usual seat, which was right between both her and Emily. He gingerly sat down, juggling the five-year-old before sitting her in her own chair so her mother could plate out her dinner.

Tommy tried not to drool like a maniac as Tess brought over the steaks, serving one to Brendan, then one to him before dropping one in her own plate.

"Thanks, Tess," He said quietly. "This looks awesome."

"Sure does, babe," Brendan agreed with a smile, still wearing the same suit he wore to school earlier in the morning. Thursday was his late day where he stayed after to run a study group for kids who were having trouble in science.

Tommy had no sooner plated a huge baked potato and a mound of garlic sautéed spinach when his brother cleared his throat.

"So, how was the gym today, Tommy?"

Right on schedule. He had to smirk as he cut a huge piece of steak and savored the mouthful for a good minute or two before he swallowed and looked at his brother. "It was good," He answered, completely ignoring the fact that he was obviously leading him with the question.

"So, uh, I got a call from Frank this afternoon," Brendan said as he shoveled in a bit of potato. "He said one of his fighters had talked to you about some training work."

Tommy looked at his older brother, trying to get what he could from his pretty blank expression, "Yeah, her ground guy has been flakin' on her and she has work to do before a fight in a few weeks."

"And you think you can help_ her_?"

The sly insinuation and the emphasis on the fact that there was a girl involved suddenly got Tess' attention. They both stared at him, and Tommy rose his scarred eyebrow at his brother's juvenile tactic.

"First off, _she_ is a Bantamweight UFC fighter, second, you and I both know I was a ret- stupid at Sparta, 'cause there ain't anyone that can beat me wrestling, and thirdly, uh, she's not interested in using the tool I have to offer her if you get my drift."

Tess laughed right away, but it took his smart brother a little longer to catch his drift. Brendan finally clicked a few minutes later. "Oh, huh, alright. So, now you have me interested, this doesn't seem like something you'd want to do normally."

Tommy shrugged, "Dunno, I was thinkin' the other day, I mean, I got a tweaked shoulder and I'm on the sorry side of 30, how many fights do I have? But I can train, that I am good at. I've been doin' it my whole life. I mean I could make a living doin' that." He paused for a second, almost wanting his brother to give him confirmation that his idea wasn't fucking stupid.

Brendan took a bit of food and thought about it for a bit, "With the right client, I think you could do really well, Tommy. You bust your butt like no one I've ever seen, and let's face it, even though I have no clue what it's about, you didn't make Staff Sergeant because you can't lead people. But my concern, and honestly, Frank's as well, is keeping that temper of yours in check."

He frowned, "Yeah, this chick can take it. Trust me. I got a feeling she could handle Pop, and that is saying something about her."

"So if she mouths off, you are going to know how to take it."

Tommy froze mid-mouthful and his hand squeezed on his fork, he could feel his face getting bright red under the pressure of his irritation. His brother could be a real fucking asshole when he wanted to be. His eyes instinctively darted to the little girls on either side of him who were contentedly eating their dinner and drinking milk in little pink cups. He chose his words carefully, but effectively.

"You wonderin' if I'm gonna bust her in the face? That it? You and your buddy Frank worried I'm Paddy Conlon all jacked up just ready to snap and wail on a woman?"

His brother's blue eyes instantly widened, "No, Tom, Jesus, I never meant that. I was just saying, it's not like you have a long fuse, and I was worried you were gonna storm off and ditch her right before the match or something."

Tommy clenched his jaw and took a deep breath, "So, you are askin' me if I am going to run away, 'cause that's what I do?"

Brendan frowned, "Now you are just bein' an asshole. You know that's not what I meant at all."

"Language," Tess warned sharply. "But honestly, can you both cut the crap? Tommy, you know you have a terrible attitude most of the time, and what are they supposed to think, and Brendan, your brother is deserves a chance without you and Frank standing all high and mighty looking down at him. I can clearly remember a time when you didn't listen to people either and Mr. Beethoven used to have a hell of a temper before he went all zen master."

Both brothers stared at the blonde with a surprised look, and Brendan smiled. "Yes, honey, as always you are right." He looked over at Tommy, "Which is why the first thing I told Frank was that he'd be stupid not to let you coach her. So, congrats, you have a fight in three weeks and a meeting with Frank first thing tomorrow."

Tommy paused for a second, letting it sink in with a strange wash of feelings. His brother had defended him to Frank, stood behind him _again_, just like he had after Sparta, and at his trial...and afterwards, when he drove him to his house and let him stay under his roof with no questions asked. He was never letting him go again, just like he promised.

"Thanks, Bren." He said quietly.

"I expect this chick to kick as- butt, so you better get on that."

Tommy smirked, "Oh she will, your buddy Campana is gonna be sorry when I have her chokin' out his best fighter."

Brendan just smiled and Tommy couldn't help the small one that stretched across his own face as he shoveled in another mouthful of potato and spinach. He was actually going to have something constructive to do with his time, and he couldn't fucking wait.

* * *

Michelle breathed deep in the frosty air as she stepped off the ice. It was Thursday, her more advanced skaters, and she enjoyed the fact that she could get a bit of exercise. These lessons were much more athletic, the moves requiring her to be as warmed up as the skaters were.

She'd spent the night with a few skaters demonstrating the finer points of her layback spin, and a variation on the Kerrigan spiral that for a very short time, had been her signature move. Well that and the triple loop/triple loop combo that figure skating history would have you read, was first landed in competition by a woman in 1996 by Tara Lipinski. It should have been landed a year earlier at the 1995 Junior Championships...but that wasn't in the cards.

She slid off her heavy brace and put her socks and shoes back on as her three instructors were amiably chatting about what they were going to be doing for the weekend.

"Oh, hey, Michelle," Dean turned to her with a smile. "We are going to start on Monday with getting groups together for the Ice Show in July. We were wondering if you would do a solo."

The Ice Show he was talking about, was nothing more than a little exhibition that was put on by the skating club every year for parents to come and see their kids perform. It was also a way to work a little fundraising in, and she knew that was what he was asking her for.

"Well, I'd rather not." She sighed. "I can't jump anymore, and I don't think I'd be doing anyone any favors out there. Besides, you three are the people that should be in the spotlight."

Kim frowned, "But the kids love to see you skate."

"I'll think about it," Michelle answered noncommittally. She stared at the clock over the ice, it was already almost eight-thirty. "I'm going to get going, I've had a long day. See you on Monday, great job."

She grabbed her bag and walked out of the rink to her car. All she wanted to do was go home and soothe her aching, cold body in a nice warm bath. With a nice cup of tea...or a glass of wine and a shot. Whatever.

* * *

A half hour later, she was comfortably sitting in her decent sized bathtub with her second overfilled glass of red wine and covered in bubbles of something that smelled like cherry blossoms from Bath and Body Works that she'd ended up with from one holiday or another last year.

She was peacefully relaxing as she stared at the sea-foam green tile on the wall as she let the memories of the past day come back to her.

She really felt bad that she had been that abrupt with Kim, Trish and Dean at the rink. They were a group of basically three kids who gave a lot of their time for a really pathetic paycheck, all to pass on the sport they all loved. And it wasn't like they were asking her to do something that she couldn't do. They were just asking her to do something that she hadn't done in a very long time.

She laughed at the thought of picturing herself in one of the worst competition outfits she'd ever had to wear, it was a white unitard with muti-colored geometric shapes all over it. God, the late '80's/early '90's were not kind to fashion even in sports.

But it really wouldn't kill her to go out there for a little bit and do a few pieces of footwork, some spins and take a bow in front of the parents of her students, and it would probably get more interest in the skating program.

So she was actually talking herself into doing this. She rolled her eyes as she grabbed her wine and took a big swig. Well, that was decided, somewhat.

Michelle took a deep breath and closed her eyes as she stretched out in the tub, her hands sliding into the water to rest on her stomach. Her fingers traced the skin absently and it didn't take long before she wasn't feeling the soft skin of her belly any longer.

Her mind wandered and she could remember the hard ridged wall of his back, the incredible density of muscle tissue that made up his lats and his traps, and the narrow sculpt of the cradle of his hips. She bit her lip as she began to have thoughts about her client that she'd never admit to another soul.

She traced lower on her own body with her fingers as she thought about what his ass would feel like. The tight muscle flexing beneath her hands. And that image brought to mind her being underneath him, with her legs spread wide open and her palms greedily holding that flesh and feeling him thrust.

A high gasp fell from her lips as her fingers threaded through her folds, warmed by the bath and her thoughts. She could feel her own wetness, slick, unique, even in the water that surrounded her. Her body was already humming as she began to touch and stroke the sensitive little bundle of nerves at the top of her sex.

Tingling waves of pure feeling, shivered down her spine, and centered between her legs. How long had it been since she'd done this, or even had a fantasy about a man? It had to have been months.

Oh, but the sight of Tommy under that towel, it was all she could think about now. It took her everything she had today not to reach out and just touch him. To feel a man, that strong and powerful in _her_ hands.

It was against every professional code in the book, not to mention Frank would have her ass. But there was no one here to tell her that now, no one that could hear her thoughts.

So she shamelessly indulged herself in a way that she would never normally do.

She saw him clear as day under that towel, straining for her, and this time, instead of concentrating above the waist, she reached under there and touched him. Now, even in her fantasies she still couldn't really do him justice, so she settled for her dream self keeping the towel over him as she began to stroke the warm, rock hard flesh, with oily hands.

Michelle moaned out into the quiet apartment as she saw him, teething at his plump, lush lips as she increased the pace of her imaginary hands on him to mimic her real ones that were now furiously circling her clit.

There was a strange splashing sound that began to echo loudly, and she knew it was her hand. She tried to open her legs as wide as the narrow tub would let her, and she really felt it blossom and roll, squeezing everything inside her almost painfully tight before she felt her heart begin to hammer in her chest and suddenly she was there. Her climax hit her so hard she reached behind her with her free hand to steady herself in the tub as her fingers kept moving slowly. She trembled as a few more swipes sent another weak little wave through her body.

She finally opened her eyes to look down at her body and see that her skin was covered in a bright red flush that she suspected had very little to do with the temperature of the water and more to do with the fact that she'd just gotten off...twice to the thought of jerking off an imaginary Tommy Conlon on her massage table at work.

But as her body lazily lay in the water, she was having a hard time hating herself for what normally would totally have been a situation conducive for self loathing. The truth was, she was having a hard time not thinking of him in a different light after today. He was polite to her, and had even been respectful and agreeable when she talked to him. And that completely discounted the fact that when he rolled over and looked at her when she was rubbing him down, there was a strange look on his face that led her to believe that the impressive hard-on he was showcasing wasn't completely as a result of reflexes alone.

That was a strange and strangely very pleasing thought, and one that she was of course scared to death to even consider dealing with on so many levels. She didn't do close, and she didn't do relationships. And she certainly wasn't in the market for one with a tattooed, foul mouthed, sculpted like marble, gorgeous, full lipped, well hung...oh for the love of God. What had she done? How on Earth was she supposed to look at him tomorrow, knowing she just did _that_?!

Michelle sat up and drained the tub as she toweled off and drained the last of her wine in a few big mouthfuls. She needed to go to sleep and find her common sense, or something. She smiled wanly at her pathetic thoughts, it might have been better when he was an asshole to her...at least if she was going to dislike him she could deal with that.


End file.
